RESPONSIBILITIES 


WILLIAM   BUTLKR   Y  1C  ATS 
From  a  pen-and-ink  sketch  by  John  B.  Yeats,  R.H. 


/ 


^23 


RESPONSIBILITIES 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •  BOMBAY   •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA.  LTD. 


RESPONSIBILITIES 


AND   OTHER  POEMS 


BY 
WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1916 

All  rights  reserved 


COPTBIOHT.  1911 

BY  WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS 


COPTBIOHT.  1904,  1908,  AND  1912 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Set  up  and  electrotypcd.     Published  November,  1916. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

RESPONSIBILITIES,  1912-1914 — 

INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES         ...  1 

THE  GREY  ROCK  .         .         .         .         .  3 

THE  Two  KINGS 11 

To  A  WEALTHY  MAN     ....  29 

SEPTEMBER  1913 32 

To  A  FRIEND  WHOSE  WORK  HAS  COME  TO 

NOTHING       .....  34 

PATTDEEN 35 

To  A  SHADE 36 

WHEN  HELEN  LIVED      ....  39 
THE  ATTACK  ON  'THE  PLAYBOY  OF  THE 

WESTERN  WORLD,'  1907           .         .  40 
THE  THREE  BEGGARS   .          .         .         .41 

THE  THREE  HERMITS    ....  45 

BEGGAR  TO  BEGGAR  CRIED      ...  47 

THE  WELL  AND  THE  TREE      ...  49 

RUNNING  TO  PARADISE           ...  50 

THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN      ...  52 

THE  PLAYER  QUEEN      ....  59 

THE  REALISTS 61 

THE  WITCH 62 

THE  PEACOCK  63 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  MOUNTAIN  TOMB  ....  64 

To  A  CHILD  DANCING  IN  THE  WIND          .  66 

A  MEMORY  OF  YOUTH  ....  68 

FALLEN  MAJESTY          ....  70 

FRIENDS 71 

THE  COLD  HEAVEN       ....  73 

THAT  THE  NIGHT  COME           ...  75 

AN  APPOINTMENT          ....  76 

THE  MAGI 77 

THE  DOLLS 78 

A  COAT 80 

CLOSING  RHYMES  .         .         .         .81 

FROM  THE  GREEN  HELMET  AND  OTHER  POEMS, 
1909-1912— 

His  DREAM 85 

A  WOMAN  HOMER  SUNG         ...  87 

THE  CONSOLATION         ....  89 

No  SECOND  TROY          ....  91 

RECONCILIATION 92 

KING  AND  No  KING      .         .         .         .94 

PEACE 96 

AGAINST  UNWORTHY  PRAISE  ...  97 

THE  FASCINATION  OF  WHAT'S  DIFFICULT  99 

A  DRINKING  SONG         ....  101 

THE  COMING  OF  WISDOM  WITH  TIME       .  102 
ON  HEARING  THAT  THE  STUDENTS  OF  OUB 
NEW  UNIVERSITY  HAVE  JOINED  THE 

ANCIENT  ORDER  OF  HIBERNIANS       .  103 

To  A  POET  .  104 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

THE  MASK 105 

UPON  A  HOUSE  SHAKEN  BY  THE  LAND 

AGITATION 106 

AT  THE  ABBEY  THEATRE        .         .         .     108 

THESE  ARE  THE  CLOUDS         .         .         .110 

AT  GALWAY  RACES        .         .         .         .112 

A  FRIEND'S  ILLNESS      .         .         .         .113 

ALL  THINGS  CAN  TEMPT  ME    .         .         .114 

THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  SONG       .         .         .115 

THE  HOUR-GLASS— 1912      .         .         .         .117 

NOTES  181 


'In  dreams  begins  responsibility.9 
Old  Play. 

'How  am  I  fallen  from  myself,  for  a 

long  time  now 
I  have  not  seen  the  Prince  of  Chang  in 

my  dreams.9 

Khoung-fou-tseu. 


•CH1N-ANGLKS,  OR, 

The  Story  h  Told  in  Duhlin   I'hat   W.   B.   Yeats,  and  George  Ru 


RESPONSIBILITIES 


Pardon,  old  fathers,  if  you  still  remain 
Somewhere  in   ear -shot  for  the  story's 

end, 
Old  Dublin  merchant  'free  of  ten  and 

four' 

Or  trading  out  of  Galway  into  Spain; 
And  country  scholar,   Robert  Emmet's 

friend, 

A  hundred-year-old  memory  to  the  poor; 
Traders  or  soldiers  who  have  left  me 

blood 
That  has  not  passed  through  any  hux- 

ter's  loin, 
Pardon,   and  you  that  did   not  weigh 

the  cost, 
Old  Butlers  when  you  took  to  horse  and 

stood 

Beside  the  brackish  waters  of  the  Boyne 
Till  your  bad  master  blenched  and  all 

was  lost; 

\ 


You  merchant  skipper  that  leaped  over- 
board 

After  a  ragged  hat  in  Biscay  Bay, 

You  most  of  allt  silent  and  fierce  old 
man 

Because  you  were  the  spectacle  that 
stirred 

My  fancy,  and  set  my  boyish  lips  to  say 

'Only  the  wasteful  virtues  earn  the 
sun'; 

Pardon  that  for  a  barren  passion9 s  sake, 

Although  I  have  come  close  on  forty- 
nine 

I  have  no  child,  I  have  nothing  but  a 
book, 

Nothing  but  that  to  prove  your  blood 
and  mine. 

January  1914. 


THE  GREY  ROCK 

Poets  with  whom  I  learned  my  trade, 
Companions  of  the  Cheshire  Cheese, 
Here's  an  old  story  I've  re-made, 
Imagining  'twould  better  please 
Your  ears  than  stories  now  in  fashion, 
Though   you   may   think   I   waste   my 

breath 

Pretending  that  there  can  be  passion 
That  has  more  life  in  it  than  death, 
And  though  at  bottling  of  your  wine 
The  bow-legged  Goban  had  no  say; 
The  moral's  yours  because  it's  mine. 

When   cups   went   round   at   close   of 

day — 

Is  not  that  how  good  stories  run? — 
Somewhere  within  some  hollow  hill, 

3 


4  THE  GREY  ROCK 

If  books  speak  truth  in  Slievenamon, 
But  let  that  be,  the  gods  were  still 
And  sleepy,  having  had  their  meal, 
And  smoky  torches  made  a  glare 
On  painted  pillars,  on  a  deal 
Of  fiddles  and  of  flutes  hung  there 
By  the  ancient  holy  hands  that  brought 

them 

From  murmuring  Murias,  on  cups — 
Old     Goban     hammered     them     and 

wrought  them, 

And  put  his  pattern  round  their  tops 
To  hold  the  wine  they  buy  of  him. 
But  from  the  juice  that  made  them 

wise 

All  those  had  lifted  up  the  dim 
Imaginations  of  their  eyes, 
For  one  that  was  like  woman  made 
Before  their  sleepy  eyelids  ran 
And  trembling  with  her  passion  said, 
'  Come  out  and  dig  for  a  dead  man, 
Who's    burrowing   somewhere   in    the 

ground, 


THE  GREY  ROCK  5 

And  mock  him  to  his  face  and  then 
Hollo  him  on  with  horse  and  hound, 
For  he  is  the  worst  of  all  dead  men.' 

We  should  be  dazed  and  terror  struck, 
If  we  but  saw  in  dreams  that  room, 
Those  wine-drenched  eyes,  and  curse  our 

luck 

That  emptied  all  our  days  to  come. 
I  knew  a  woman  none  could  please, 
Because  she  dreamed  when  but  a  child 
Of  men  and  women  made  like  these; 
And  after,  when  her  blood  ran  wild, 
Had  ravelled  her  own  story  out, 
And  said,  'In  two  or  in  three  years 
I  need  must  marry  some  poor  lout,9 
And  having  said  it  burst  in  tears. 
Since,  tavern  comrades,  you  have  died, 
Maybe  your  images  have  stood, 
Mere  bone  and  muscle  thrown  aside, 
Before  that  roomful  or  as  good. 
You  had  to  face  your  ends  when  young — 
'Twas  wine  or  women,  or  some  curse — 


6  THE  GREY  ROCK 

But  never  made  a  poorer  song 
That  you  might  have  a  heavier  purse, 
Nor  gave  loud  service  to  a  cause 
That  you  might  have  a  troop  of  friends. 
You  kept  the  Muses'  sterner  laws, 
And  unrelenting  faced  your  ends, 
And  therefore  earned  the  right — and  yet 
Dowson  and  Johnson  most  I  praise — 
To  troop  with  those  the  world's  forgot, 
And  copy  their  proud  steady  gaze. 

'The  Danish  troop  was  driven  out 
Between    the    dawn    and    dusk/    she 

said; 
'Although    the    event    was    long    in 

doubt, 

Although  the  King  of  Ireland's  dead 
And  half  the  kings,  before  sundown 
All  was  accomplished.' 

'When  this  day 

Murrough,  the  King  of  Ireland's  son, 
Foot  after  foot  was  giving  way, 


THE  GREY  ROCK  7 

He  and  his  best  troops  back  to  back 
Had  perished  there,  but  the  Danes  ran, 
Stricken  with  panic  from  the  attack, 
The  shouting  of  an  unseen  man; 
And  being  thankful  Murrough  found, 
Led  by  a  footsole  dipped  in  blood 
That  had  made  prints  upon  the  ground, 
Where  by  old  thorn  .trees  that  man 

stood; 
And  though  when  he  gazed  here  and 

there, 
He   had    but    gazed    on    thorn    trees, 

spoke, 

"Who  is  the  friend  that  seems  but  air 
And  yet  could  give  so  fine  a  stroke?" 
Thereon  a  young  man  met  his  eye, 
Who  said,  "Because  she  held  me  in 
Her  love,  and  would  not  have  me  die, 
Rock-nurtured  Aoife  took  a  pin, 
And  pushing  it  into  my  shirt, 
Promised  that  for  a  pin's  sake, 
No  man  should  see  to  do  me  hurt; 
But  there  it's  gone;  I  will  not  take 


8  THE  GREY  ROCK 

The  fortune  that  had  been  my  shame 
Seeing,  King's  son,  what  wounds  you 

have." 
'Twas  roundly  spoke,  but  when  night 

came 

He  had  betrayed  me  to  his  grave, 
For  he  and  the  King's  son  were  dead. 
I'd  promised  him  two  hundred  years, 
And  when  for  all  I'd  done  or  said — 
And  these  immortal  eyes  shed  tears — 
He   claimed   his   country's   need   was 

most, 

I'd  save  his  life,  yet  for  the  sake 
Of  a  new  friend  he  has  turned  a  ghost. 
What  does  he  care  if  my  heart  break? 
I  call  for  spade  and  horse  and  hound 
That  we  may  harry  him.'     Thereon 
She  cast  herself  upon  the  ground 
And  rent  her  clothes   and  made  her 

moan: 
'Why  are  they   faithless   when   their 

might 
Is  from  the  holy  shades  that  rove 


THE  GREY  ROCK  9 

The  grey  rock  and  the  windy  light? 
Why    should    the    faithfullest    heart 

most  love 

The  bitter  sweetness  of  false  faces? 
Why    must    the    lasting    love    what 

passes, 
Why  are  the  gods  by  men  betrayed ! ' 

But  thereon  every  god  stood  up 
With  a  slow  smile  and  without  sound, 
And  stretching  forth  his  arm  and  cup 
To     where     she    moaned     upon     the 

ground, 

Suddenly  drenched  her  to  the  skin; 
And  she  with  Goban's  wine  adrip, 
No  more  remembering  what  had  been, 
Stared  at  the  gods  with  laughing  lip. 

/  have  kept  my  faith,  though  faith  was 

tried, 

To  that  rock-born,  rock-wandering  foot, 
And  the  world's  altered  since  you  died, 
And  I  am  in  no  good  repute 


10  THE  GREY  ROCK 

With  the  loud  host  before  the  sea, 

That   think   sword   strokes   were   better 

meant 

Than  lover's  music — let  that  be, 
So  that  the  wandering  foot's  content. 


THE  TWO  KINGS 

KING  EOCHAID  came  at  sundown  to  a 

wood 
Westward  of  Tara.     Hurrying  to  his 

queen 

He  had  out-ridden  his  war-wasted  men 
That  with  empounded  cattle  trod  the 

mire; 
And  where  beech  trees  had  mixed  a 

pale  green  light 
With  the  ground-ivy's  blue,  he  saw  a 

stag 
Whiter  than  curds,  its  eyes  the  tint 

of  the  sea. 
Because  it  stood  upon  his  path  and 

seemed 
More  hands  in  height  than  any  stag 

in  the  world 

11 


12  THE  TWO  KINGS 

He  sat  with  tightened  rein  and  loosened 

mouth 
Upon  his  trembling  horse,  then  drove 

the  spur; 
But  the  stag  stooped  and  ran  at  him, 

and  passed, 
Rending    the     horse's     flank.       King 

Eochaid  reeled 
Then    drew    his    sword    to    hold    its 

levelled  point 
Against   the   stag.      When    horn   and 

steel  were  met 
The  horn  resounded  as  though  it  had 

been  silver, 

A  sweet,  miraculous,  terrifying  sound. 
Horn   locked   in   sword,   they   tugged 

and  struggled  there 
As  though  a  stag  and  unicorn  were 

met 

In  Africa  on  Mountain  of  the  Moon, 
Until  at  last  the  double  horns,  drawn 

backward, 
Butted  below  the  single  and  so  pierced 


THE  TWO  KINGS  13 

The  entrails  of  the  horse.     Dropping 

his  sword 
King  Eochaid  seized  the  horns  in  his 

strong  hands 
And  stared  into  the  sea-green  eye,  and 

so 

Hither  and  thither  to  and  fro  they  trod 
Till  all  the  place  was  beaten  into  mire. 
The  strong  thigh  and  the  agile  thigh 

were  met, 
The  hands  that  gathered  up  the  might 

of  the  world, 
And  hoof  and  horn  that  had  sucked  in 

their  speed 

Amid  the  elaborate  wilderness  of  the  air. 
Through  bush  they  plunged  and  over 

ivied  root, 
And  where  the  stone  struck  fire,  while 

in  the  leaves 
A  squirrel  whinnied  and  a  bird  screamed 

out; 
But    when    at    last    he    forced    those 

sinewy  flanks 


14  THE  TWO  KINGS 

Against  a  beech  bole,  he  threw  down 

the  beast 
And  knelt  above  it  with  drawn  knife. 

On  the  instant 

It  vanished  like  a  shadow,  and  a  cry 
So  mournful  that  it  seemed  the  cry  of 

one 
Who    had    lost    some    unimaginable 

treasure 
Wandered  between  the  blue  and  the 

green  leaf 
And  climbed  into  the  air,  crumbling 

away, 

Till  all  had  seemed  a  shadow  or  a  vision 
But  for  the  trodden  mire,  the  pool  of 

blood, 
The  disembowelled  horse. 

King  Eochaid  ran, 
Toward  peopled  Tara,   nor  stood  to 

draw  his  breath 

Until  he  came  before  the  painted  wall, 
The    posts    of    polished    yew,    circled 

with  bronze, 


THE  TWO  KINGS  15 

Of   the   great   door;   but   though    the 

hanging  lamps 
Showed  their  faint  light  through  the 

unshuttered  windows, 
Nor  door,  nor  mouth,  nor  slipper  made 

a  noise, 
Nor  on  the  ancient  beaten  paths,  that 

wound 
From  well-side  or  from  plough-land, 

was  there  noise; 
And    there    had    been    no    sound    of 

living  thing 

Before  him  or  behind,  but  that  far-off 
On  the  horizon  edge  bellowed  the  herds. 
Knowing  that  silence  brings  no  good 

to  kings, 
And     mocks     returning     victory,     he 


Between   the   pillars   with   a   beating 

heart 
And  saw  where  in  the  midst  of  the 

great  hall 
Pale-faced,  alone  upon  a  bench,  Edain 


16  THE  TWO  KINGS 

Sat  upright  with  a  sword  before  her 

feet. 
Her  hands  on  either  side  had  gripped 

the  bench, 
Her  eyes  were  cold  and  steady,  her 

lips  tight. 
Some   passion    had   made   her   stone. 

Hearing  a  foot 
She    started    and    then    knew    whose 

foot  it  was; 
But  when  he  thought  to  take  her  in 

his  arms 
She  motioned  him  afar,  and  rose  and 

spoke: 
'I  have  sent  among  the  fields  or  to 

the  woods 
The  fighting  men  and  servants  of  this 

house, 
For    I    would    have    your    judgment 

upon  one 

Who  is  self-accused.    If  she  be  innocent 
She   would   not   look   in   any   known 

man's  face 


THE  TWO  KINGS  17 

Till  judgment  has  been  given,  and  if 

guilty, 
Will  never  look  again  on  known  man's 

face/ 
And  at  these  words  he  paled,  as  she 

had  paled, 
Knowing   that   he   should   find    upon 

her  lips 
The     meaning     of     that     monstrous 

day. 

Then  she: 
'You  brought  me  where  your  brother 

Ardan  sat 
Always  in  his  one  seat,  and  bid  me 

care  him 
Through  that  strange  illness  that  had 

fixed  him  there, 
And  should  he  die  to  heap  his  burial 

mound 
And    carve    his    name    in    Ogham.' 

Eochaid  said, 
'He  lives?'    'He  lives  and  is  a  healthy 


18  THE  TWO  KINGS 

*  While  I  have  him  and  you  it  matters 

little 
What  man  you  have  lost,  what  evil 

you  have  found.' 

'I  bid  them  make  his  bed  under  this  roof 
And   carried   him   his   food   with   my 

own  hands, 
And   so   the  weeks   passed   by.     But 

when  I  said 
"What   is   this   trouble?"    he    would 

answer  nothing, 
Though  always  at  my  words  his  trouble 

grew; 
And  I  but  asked  the  more,  till  he  cried 

out, 
Weary    of    many    questions:    "There 

are  things 
That  make  the  heart  akin  to  the  dumb 

stone." 
Then  I  replied:  "Although  you  hide 

a  secret, 
Hopeless  and  dear,  or  terrible  to  think 

on, 


THE  TWO  KINGS  19 

Speak  it,  that  I  may  send  through  the 

wide  world 

For  medicine."  Thereon  he  cried  aloud : 
"Day  after  day  you  question  me,  and  I, 
Because  there  is  such  a  storm  amid 

my  thoughts 

I  shall  be  carried  in  the  gust,  command, 
Forbid,  beseech  and  waste  my  breath." 

Then  I, 
"Although  the  thing  that  you  have 

hid  were  evil, 
The  speaking  of  it  could  be  no  great 

wrong, 
And  evil  must  it  be,  if  done    'twere 

worse 
Than  mound  and  stone  that  keep  all 

virtue  in, 
And  loosen  on  us  dreams  that  waste 

our  life, 
Shadows  and  shows  that  can  but  turn 

the  brain." 
But  finding  him  still  silent  I  stooped 

down 


20  THE  TWO  KINGS 

And    whispering    that    none    but    he 

should  hear, 

Said:  "If  a  woman  has  put  this  on  you, 
My   men,    whether   it   please   her   or 

displease, 
And  though  they  have  to  cross  the 

Loughlan  waters 
And  take  her  in  the  middle  of  armed 

men, 

Shall  make  her  look  upon  her  handi- 
work, 
That  she  may  quench  the  rick  she  has 

fired;  and  though 
She  may  have  worn  silk  clothes,  or 

worn  a  crown, 
She'll  not  be  proud,  knowing  within 

her  heart 

That  our  sufficient  portion  of  the  world 
Is  that  we  give,  although  it  be  brief 

giving, 

Happiness  to  children  and  to  men." 
Then  he,  driven  by  his  thought  beyond 

his  thought, 


THE  TWO  KINGS  21 

And    speaking    what    he    would    not 

though  he  would, 
Sighed:    "You,     even    you    yourself, 

could  work  the  cure!" 
And  at  those  words  I  rose  and  I  went 

out 
And  for  nine  days  he  had  food  from 

other  hands, 
And   for   nine   days   my   mind   went 

whirling  round 

The  one  disastrous  zodiac,  muttering 
That  the  immedicable  mound's  beyond 
Our  questioning,  beyond  our  pity  even. 
But  when  nine  days  had  gone  I  stood 

again 
Before   his   chair   and   bending  down 

my  head 
Told  him,  that  when  Orion  rose,  and 

all 
The    women    of    his    household    were 

asleep, 
To  go — for  hope  would  give  his  limbs 

the  power — 


22  THE  TWO  KINGS 

To  an   old   empty  woodman's   house 

that's  hidden 
Close  to  a  clump  of  beech  trees  in  the 

wood 
Westward  of  Tara,  there  to  await  a 

friend 
That  could,  as  he  had  told  her,  work 

his  cure 
And  would  be  no  harsh  friend. 

When  night  had  deepened, 
I   groped   my   way   through   boughs, 

and  over  roots, 
Till  oak  and  hazel  ceased  and  beech 

began, 
And   found   the   house,   a   sputtering 

torch  within, 
And  stretched  out  sleeping  on  a  pile 

of  skins 
Ardan,  and  though  I  called  to  him 

and  tried 
To  shake  him  out  of  sleep,  I  could  not 

rouse  him. 
I  waited  till  the  night  was  on  the  turn, 


THE  TWO  KINGS  23 

Then  fearing  that  some  labourer,  on 

his  way 
To  plough  or  pasture-land,  might  see 

me  there, 
Went  out. 

Among  the  ivy-covered  rocks, 
As  on  the  blue  light  of  a  sword,  a  man 
Who  had  unnatural  majesty,  and  eyes 
Like  the  eyes  of  some  great  kite 

scouring  the  woods, 
Stood  on  my  path.     Trembling  from 

head  to  foot 

I  gazed  at  him  like  grouse  upon  a  kite; 
But  with  a  voice  that  had  unnatural 

music, 

"A  weary  wooing  and  a  long,"  he  said, 
"Speaking  of  love  through  other  lips 

and  looking 
Under  the  eyelids  of  another,  for  it 

was  my  craft 

That  put  a  passion  in  the  sleeper  there, 
And   when   I   had   got   my   will   and 

drawn  you  here, 


24  THE  TWO  KINGS 

Where  I  may  speak  to  you  alone,  my 

craft 
Sucked   up   the   passion   out   of   him 

again 
And  left  mere  sleep.    He'll  wake  when 

the  sun  wakes, 
Push  out  his  vigorous  limbs  and  rub 

his  eyes, 
And  wonder  what  has  ailed  him  these 

twelve  months." 

I  cowered  back  upon  the  wall  in  terror, 
But  that  sweet-sounding  voice  ran  on: 

"Woman, 
I  was  your  husband  when  you  rode 

the  air, 
Danced  in  the  whirling  foam  and  in 

the  dust, 

In  days  you  have  not  kept  in  memory, 
Being  betrayed  into  a  cradle,  and  I 

come 
That  I  may  claim  you   as  my   wife 

again." 
I  was  no  longer  terrified,  his  voice 


THE  TWO  KINGS  25 

Had  half  awakened  some  old  memory, 
Yet    answered    him:     "I    am    King 

Eochaid's  wife 
And    with    him    have    found     every 

happiness 
Women    can    find."      With    a    most 

masterful  voice, 
That  made  the  body  seem  as  it  were 

a  string 

Under  a  bow,  he  cried:  "What  hap- 
piness 
Can    lovers    have    that    know    their 

happiness 
Must  end  at  the  dumb  stone?     But 

where  we  build 

Our  sudden  palaces  in  the  still  air 
Pleasure  itself  can  bring  no  weariness, 
Nor  can  time  waste  the  cheek,  nor  is 

there  foot 
That  has  grown  weary  of  the  whirling 

dance, 
Nor  an  unlaughing  mouth,  but  mine 

that  mourns, 


26  THE  TWO  KINGS 

Among  those  mouths  that  sing  their 

sweethearts'  praise, 
Your  empty   bed."     "How  should   I 

love,"  I  answered, 
"Were   it   not   that   when   the   dawn 

has  lit  my  bed 
And  shown  my  husband  sleeping  there, 

I  have  sighed, 
'Your    strength    and    nobleness    will 

pass  away.' 
Or  how  should  love  be  worth  its  pains 

were  it  not 
That  when  he  has  fallen  asleep  within 

my  arms, 
Being  wearied  out,  I  love  in  man  the 

child? 
What  can  they  know  of  love  that  do 

not  know 
She   builds   her  nest   upon   a   narrow 

ledge 

Above  a  windy  precipice?"    Then  he: 
"Seeing  that  when  you  come  to  the 

death-bed 


THE  TWO  KINGS  27 

You  must  return,  whether  you  would 

or  no, 

This  human  life  blotted  from  memory, 
Why  must  I  live  some  thirty,  forty 

years, 

Alone  with  all  this  useless  happiness?" 
Thereon    he   seized   me   in   his   arms, 

but  I 
Thrust  him  away  with  both  my  hands 

and  cried, 
"Never   will   I   believe   there   is   any 

change 
Can    blot    out    of    my    memory    this 

life 
Sweetened  by  death,  but  if  I  could 

believe 

That  were  a  double  hunger  in  my  lips 
For  what  is  doubly  brief." 

And  now  the  shape, 
My  hands  were  pressed  to,  vanished 

suddenly. 
I  staggered,  but  a  beech  tree  stayed 

my  fall, 


28  THE  TWO  KINGS 

And  clinging  to  it  I  could  hear  the 

cocks 
Crow  upon  Tara/ 

King  Eochaid  bowed  his  head 
And  thanked  her  for  her  kindness  to 

his  brother, 
For  that  she  promised,  and  for  that 

refused. 

Thereon  the  bellowing  of  the  em- 
pounded  herds 

Rose  round  the  walls,  and  through  the 
bronze-ringed  door 

Jostled  and  shouted  those  war-wasted 
men, 

And  in  the  midst  King  Eochaid's 
brother  stood. 

He'd  heard  that  din  on  the  horizon's 
edge 

And  ridden  towards  it,  being  ignorant. 


TO  A  WEALTHY  MAN"  WHO  PROMISED 
A  SECOND  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  THE 
DUBLIN  MUNICIPAL  GALLERY  IF 
IT  WERE  PROVED  THE  PEOPLE 
WANTED  PICTURES 

You  gave  but  will  not  give  again 
Until  enough  of  Paudeen's  pence 
By  Biddy's  halfpennies  have  lain 
To  be  'some  sort  of  evidence,' 
Before  you'll  put  your  guineas  down, 
That  things  it  were  a  pride  to  give 
Are  what  the  blind  and  ignorant  town 
Imagines  best  to  make  it  thrive. 
What  cared  Duke  Ercole,  that  bid 
His  mummers  to  the  market  place, 
What  th'  onion-sellers  thought  or  did 
So  that  his  Plautus  set  the  pace 
For  the  Italian  comedies? 
And  Guidobaldo,  when  he  made 


30     TO  A  WEALTHY  MAN 

That  grammar  school  of  courtesies 
Where  wit  and  beauty  learned  their 

trade 

Upon  Urbino's  windy  hill, 
Had  sent  no  runners  to  and  fro 
That  he  might  learn  the  shepherds* 

will. 

And  when  they  drove  out  Cosimo, 
Indifferent  how  the  rancour  ran, 
He    gave    the    hours    they    had    set 

free 

To  Michelozzo's  latest  plan 
For  the  San  Marco  Library, 
Whence  turbulent  Italy  should  draw 
Delight  in  Art  whose  end  is  peace, 
In  logic  and  in  natural  law 
By  sucking  at  the  dugs  of  Greece. 

Your  open  hand  but  shows  our  loss, 
For  he  knew  better  how  to  live. 
Let  Paudeens  play  at  pitch  and  toss, 
Look  up  in  the  sun's  eye  and  give 
What  the  exultant  heart  calls  good 


TO  A  WEALTHY  MAN       31 

That  some  new  day  may  breed  the 

best 
Because    you    gave,    not    what    they 

would 
But  the  right  twigs  for  an  eagle's  nest! 

December  1912. 


SEPTEMBER  1913 

WHAT  need  you,  being  come  to  sense, 
But  fumble  in  a  greasy  till 
And  add  the  halfpence  to  the  pence 
And  prayer  to  shivering  prayer,  until 
You  have  dried  the  marrow  from  the 

bone; 

For  men  were  born  to  pray  and  save: 
Romantic  Ireland's  dead  and  gone, 
It's  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave. 

Yet  they  were  of  a  different  kind 
The  names  that  stilled  your  childish 

play, 
They  have  gone  about  the  world  like 

wind, 

But  little  time  had  they  to  pray 
For   whom   the   hangman's   rope   was 

spun, 


SEPTEMBER  1913  33 

And  what,   God  help  us,  could  they 

save: 

Romantic  Ireland's  dead  and  gone, 
It's  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave. 

Was  it  for  this  the  wild  geese  spread 
The  grey  wing  upon  every  tide; 
For  this  that  all  that  blood  was  shed, 
For  this  Edward  Fitzgerald  died, 
And  Robert  Emmet  and  Wolfe  Tone, 
All  that  delirium  of  the  brave; 
Romantic  Ireland's  dead  and  gone, 
It's  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave. 

Yet  could  we  turn  the  years  again, 
And  call  those  exiles  as  they  were, 
In  all  their  loneliness  and  pain 
You'd  cry  'some  woman's  yellow  hair 
Has  maddened  every  mother's  son ' : 
They   weighed   so   lightly   what   they 

gave, 

But  let  them  be,  they're  dead  and  gone, 
They're  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave. 


TO    A    FRIEND    WHOSE    WORK 
HAS  COME  TO  NOTHING 

Now  all  the  truth  is  out, 
Be  secret  and  take  defeat 
From  any  brazen  throat, 
For  how  can  you  compete, 
Being  honour  bred,  with  one 
Who,  were  it  proved  he  lies, 
Were  neither  shamed  in  his  own 
Nor  in  his  neighbours'  eyes? 
Bred  to  a  harder  thing 
Than  Triumph,  turn  away 
And  like  a  laughing  string 
Whereon  mad  fingers  play 
Amid  a  place  of  stone, 
Be  secret  and  exult, 
Because  of  all  things  known 
That  is  most  difficult. 


PAUDEEN 

INDIGNANT  at  the  fumbling  wits,  the 

obscure  spite 
Of  our  old   Paudeen   in   his   shop,   I 

stumbled  blind 
Among   the   stones   and   thorn   trees, 

under  morning  light; 
Until  a  curlew  cried  and  in  the  lumi- 
nous wind 
A    curlew    answered;    and    suddenly 

thereupon  I  thought 
That  on  the  lonely  height  where  all 

are  in  God's  eye, 
There    cannot    be,    confusion    of    our 

sound  forgot, 
A  single  soul  that  lacks  a  sweet  crys- 

taline  cry. 


TO  A  SHADE 

IF  you  have  revisited  the  town,  thin 

Shade, 

Whether  to  look  upon  your  monument 
(I  wonder  if  the  builder  has  been  paid) 
Or  happier  thoughted  when  the  day 

is  spent 
To  drink  of  that  salt  breath  out  of 

the  sea 
When  grey  gulls  flit  about  instead  of 

men, 

And  the  gaunt  houses  put  on  majesty: 
Let  these  content  you  and  be  gone 

again; 
For  they  are  at  their  old  tricks  yet. 

A  man 
Of  your  own  passionate  serving  kind 

who  had  brought 


TO  A  SHADE  37 

In  his  full  hands  what,  had  they  only 

known, 
Had    given    their    children's    children 

loftier  thought, 
Sweeter    emotion,    working    in    their 

veins 
Like   gentle   blood,    has   been   driven 

from  the  place, 
And  insult  heaped  upon  him  for  his 

pains 

And    for    his    open-handedness,    dis- 
grace; 
An    old    foul    mouth    that    slandered 

you  had  set 
The  pack  upon  him. 

Go,  unquiet  wanderer, 
And  gather  the  Glasnevin  coverlet 
About  your  head  till  the  dust  stops 

your  ear, 
The  time  for  you  to  taste  of  that  salt 

breath 
And    listen    at    the    corners    has    not 

come; 


38  TO  A  SHADE 

You    had    enough    of    sorrow    before 

death— 
Away,  away!     You  are  safer  in  the 

tomb. 

September  29th,  1914. 


WHEN  HELEN  LIVED 

WE  have  cried  in  our  despair 

That  men  desert, 

For  some  trivial  affair 

Or  noisy,  insolent  sport, 

Beauty  that  we  have  won 

From  bitterest  hours; 

Yet  we,  had  we  walked  within 

Those  topless  towers 

Where  Helen  walked  with  her  boy, 

Had  given  but  as  the  rest 

Of  the  men  and  women  of  Troy, 

A  word  and  a  jest. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  'THE  PLAYBOY 
OF  THE  WESTERN  WORLD/ 

1907 

ONCE,  when  midnight  smote  the  air, 
Eunuchs  ran  through  Hell  and  met 
From  thoroughfare  to  thoroughfare, 
While  that  great  Juan  galloped  by; 
And  like  these  to  rail  and  sweat 
Staring  upon  his  sinewy  thigh. 


THE  THREE  BEGGARS 

'  Though  to  my  feathers  in  the  wet, 
I  have  stood  here  from  break  of  day, 
I  have  not  found  a  thing  to  eat 
For  only  rubbish  comes  my  way. 
Am  I  to  live  on  lebeen-lone? ' 
Muttered  the  old  crane  of  Gort. 
'For  all  my  pains  on  lebeen-lone.9 

King  Guari  walked  amid  his  court 
The  palace-yard  and  river-side 
And  there  to  three  old  beggars  said: 
'You    that    have    wandered    far    and 

wide 

Can  ravel  out  what's  in  my  head. 
Do  men  who  least  desire  get  most, 
Or  get  the  most  who  most  desire? ' 
A  beggar  said:  'They  get  the  most 

41 


42      THE  THREE  BEGGARS 

Whom  man  or  devil  cannot  tire, 

And  what  could  make  their  muscles 

taut 

Unless  desire  had  made  them  so.' 
But  Guari  laughed  with  secret  thought, 
'If  that  be  true  as  it  seems  true, 
One  of  you  three  is  a  rich  man, 
For  he  shall  have  a  thousand  pounds 
Who  is  first  asleep,  if  but  he  can 
Sleep  before  the  third  noon  sounds/ 
And  thereon  merry  as  a  bird, 
With    his    old    thoughts    King    Guari 

went 

From  river-side  and  palace-yard 
And  left  them  to  their  argument. 
'And  if  I  win/  one  beggar  said, 
'Though  I  am  old  I  shall  persuade 
A  pretty  girl  to  share  my  bed ' ; 
The  second:  'I  shall  learn  a  trade'; 
The  third:  'I'll  hurry  to  the  course 
Among  the  other  gentlemen, 
And  lay  it  all  upon  a  horse'; 
The  second:  'I  have  thought  again: 


THE  THREE  BEGGARS      43 

A  farmer  has  more  dignity.' 
One  to  another  sighed  and  cried: 
The  exorbitant  dreams  of  beggary, 
That  idleness  had  borne  to  pride, 
Sang  through  their  teeth  from  noon 

to  noon; 

And  when  the  second  twilight  brought 
The  frenzy  of  the  beggars'  moon 
They  closed  their  blood-shot  eyes  for 

naught. 
One  beggar  cried:  'You're  shamming 

sleep.' 

And  thereupon  their  anger  grew 
Till  they  were  whirling  in  a  heap. 

They'd  mauled  and  bitten  the  night 

through 

Or  sat  upon  their  heels  to  rail, 
And  when  old  Guari  came  and  stood 
Before  the  three  to  end  this  tale, 
They  were  commingling  lice  and  blood. 
*  Time's    up,'    he    cried,    and    all    the 

three 


44      THE  THREE  BEGGARS 

With  blood-shot  eyes  upon  him  stared. 
'Time's    up,'    he    cried,    and    all    the 

three 
Fell  down  upon  the  dust  and  snored. 

'Maybe  I  shall  be  lucky  yet, 
Now  they  are  silent,9  said  the  crane. 
'  Though  to  my  feathers  in  the  wet 
I've  stood  as  I  were  made  of  stone 
And  seen  the  rubbish  run  about. 
It's  certain  there  are  trout  somewhere 
And  maybe  I  shall  take  a  trout 
If  but  I  do  not  seem  to  care.' 


THE  THREE  HERMITS 

THREE  old  hermits  took  the  air 
By  a  cold  and  desolate  sea, 
First  was  muttering  a  prayer, 
Second  rummaged  for  a  flea; 
On  a  windy  stone,  the  third, 
Giddy  with  his  hundredth  year, 
Sang  unnoticed  like  a  bird. 
'Though  the  Door  of  Death  is  near 
And  what  waits  behind  the  door, 
Three  times  in  a  single  day 
I,  though  upright  on  the  shore, 
Fall  asleep  when  I  should  pray.' 
So  the  first  but  now  the  second, 
'We're    but    given     what    we    have 

earned 
When    all    thoughts    and    deeds    are 

reckoned, 
So  it's  plain  to  be  discerned 


46      THE  THREE  HERMITS 

That  the  shades  of  holy  men, 
Who  have  failed  being  weak  of  will, 
Pass  the  Door  of  Birth  again, 
And  are  plagued  by  crowds,  until 
They've  the  passion  to  escape/ 
Moaned  the  other,  'They  are  thrown 
Into  some  most  fearful  shape.' 
But  the  second  mocked  his  moan: 
'They  are  not  changed  to  anything, 
Having  loved  God  once,  but  maybe, 
To  a  poet  or  a  king 
Or  a  witty  lovely  lady.' 
While  he'd  rummaged  rags  and  hair, 
Caught  and  cracked  his  flea,  the  third, 
Giddy  with  his  hundredth  year 
Sang  unnoticed  like  a  bird. 


BEGGAR  TO  BEGGAR  CRIED 

'TiME  to  put  off  the  world  and  go 
somewhere 

And  find  my  health  again  in  the  sea 
air/ 

Beggar  to  beggar  cried,  being  frenzy- 
struck, 

'And  make  my  soul  before  my  pate 
is  bare.' 

'And  get  a  comfortable  wife  and  house 
To  rid  me  of  the  devil  in  my  shoes,' 
Beggar  to  beggar  cried,  being  frenzy- 
struck, 

'And  the  worse  devil  that  is  between 
my  thighs.' 

'And  though  I'd  marry  with  a  comely 
lass, 

47 


48    BEGGAR  TO  BEGGAR  CRIED 

She  need  not  be  too  comely — let  it 
pass/ 

Beggar  to  beggar  cried,  being  frenzy- 
struck, 

'But  there's  a  devil  in  a  looking- 
glass/ 

'Nor  should  she  be  too  rich,  because 
the  rich 

Are  driven  by  wealth  as  beggars  by 
the  itch/ 

Beggar  to  beggar  cried,  being  frenzy- 
struck, 

'And  cannot  have  a  humorous  happy 
speech/ 

'And  there  I'll  grow  respected  at  my 


And  hear  amid  the  garden's  nightly 
peace/ 

Beggar  to  beggar  cried,  being  frenzy- 
struck, 

'The  wind-blown  clamor  of  the 
barnacle-geese/ 


THE  WELL  AND  THE  TREE 

'THE  Man  that  I  praise,' 

Cries  out  the  empty  well, 

'Lives  all  his  days 

Where  a  hand  on  the  bell 

Can  call  the  milch-cows 

To  the  comfortable  door  of  his  house. 

Who  but  an  idiot  would  praise 

Dry  stones  in  a  well?' 

'The  Man  that  I  praise,' 

Cries  out  the  leafless  tree, 

'Has  married  and  stays 

By  an  old  hearth,  and  he 

On  naught  has  set  store 

But  children  and  dogs  on  the  floor. 

Who  but  an  idiot  would  praise 

A  withered  tree? ' 


RUNNING  TO  PARADISE 

As  I  came  over  Windy  Gap 

They  threw  a  halfpenny  into  my  cap, 

For  I  am  running  to  Paradise; 

And  all  that  I  need  do  is  to  wish 

And  somebody  puts  his  hand  in  the 

dish 

To  throw  me  a  bit  of  salted  fish : 
And    there    the    king   is   but    as    the 

beggar. 

My  brother  Mourteen  is  worn  out 
With  skelping  his  big  brawling  lout, 
And  I  am  running  to  Paradise; 
A  poor  life  do  what  he  can, 
And  though  he  keep  a  dog  and  a  gun, 
A  serving  maid  and  a  serving  man : 
And    there   the    king   is   but    as    the 
beggar. 


RUNNING  TO  PARADISE    51 

Poor  men  have  grown  to  be  rich  men, 
And  rich  men  grown  to  be  poor  again, 
And  I  am  running  to  Paradise; 
And  many  a  darling  wit's  grown  dull 
That  tossed  a  bare  heel  when  at  school, 
Now  it  has  filled  an  old  sock  full: 
And   there   the    king   is   but    as    the 
beggar. 

The  wind  is  old  and  still  at  play 
While  I  must  hurry  upon  my  way, 
For  I  am  running  to  Paradise; 
Yet  never  have  I  lit  on  a  friend 
To  take  my  fancy  like  the  wind 
That  nobody  can  buy  or  bind: 
And    there   the   king   is   but    as    the 
beggar. 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

A   ONE-LEGGED,   one-armed,   one-eyed 

man, 

A  bundle  of  rags  upon  a  crutch, 
Stumbled  on  windy  Cruachan 
Cursing  the  wind.    It  was  as  much 
As  the  one  sturdy  leg  could  do 
To  keep  him  upright  while  he  cursed. 
He  had  counted,  where  long  years  ago 
Queen  Maeve's  nine  Maines  had  been 

nursed, 

A  pair  of  lapwings,  one  old  sheep 
And  not  a  house  to  the  plain's  edge, 
When  close  to  his  right  hand  a  heap 
Of  grey  stones  and  a  rocky  ledge 
Reminded  him  that  he  could  make, 
If  he  but  shifted  a  few  stones, 
A  shelter  till  the  daylight  broke. 

52 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN  53 

But  while  he  fumbled  with  the  stones 

They  toppled  over;  'Were  it  not 

I  have  a  lucky  wooden  shin 

I     had     been     hurt';     and     toppling 

brought 
Before    his    eyes,    where    stones    had 

been, 

A  dark  deep  hole  in  the  rock's  face. 
He    gave    a    gasp    and    thought    to 

run, 

Being  certain  it  was  no  right  place 
But  the  Hell  Mouth  at  Cruachan 
That's  stuffed  with  all  that's  old  and 

bad, 

And  yet  stood  still,  because  inside 
He  had  seen  a  red-haired  jolly  lad 
In  some  outlandish  coat  beside 
A  ladle  and  a  tub  of  beer, 
Plainly  no  phantom  by  his  look. 
So  with  a  laugh  at  his  own  fear 
He  crawled  into  that  pleasant  nook. 
Young  Red-head  stretched  himself  to 

yawn 


54    THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

And  murmured,  'May  God  curse  the 

night 

That's  grown  uneasy  near  the  dawn 
So  that  it  seems  even  I  sleep  light; 
And  who  are  you  that  wakens  me? 
Has  one  of  Maeve's  nine  brawling  sons 
Grown  tired  of  his  own  company? 
But  let  him  keep  his  grave  for  once 
I  have  to  find  the  sleep  I  have  lost.' 
And  then  at  last  being  wide  awake, 
'I  took  you  for  a  brawling  ghost, 
Say  what  you  please,  but  from  day- 
break 

I'll  sleep  another  century.' 
The  beggar  deaf  to  all  but  hope 
Went  down  upon  a  hand  and  knee 
And  took  the  wooden  ladle  up 
And  would  have  dipped  it  in  the  beer 
But  the  other  pushed  his  hand  aside, 
'Before  you  have  dipped  it  in  the  beer 
That  sacred  Goban  brewed,'  he  cried, 
'I'd  have  assurance  that  you  are  able 
To  value  beer — I  will  have  no  fool 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN    55 

Dipping  his  nose  into  my  ladle 
Because  he  has  stumbled  on  this  hole 
In  the  bad  hour  before  the  dawn. 
If  you  but  drink  that  beer  and  say 
I  will  sleep  until  the  winter's  gone, 
Or  maybe,  to  Midsummer  Day 
You  will  sleep  that  length;  and  at  the 

first 

I  waited  so  for  that  or  this — 
Because  the  weather  was  a-cursed 
Or  I  had  no  woman  there  to  kiss, 
And  slept  for  half  a  year  or  so; 
But  year  by  year  I  found  that  less 
Gave  me  such  pleasure  I'd  forgo 
Even  a  half  hour's  nothingness, 
And  when  at  one  year's  end  I  found 
I  had  not  waked  a  single  minute, 
I  chose  this  burrow  under  ground. 
I  will  sleep  away  all  Time  within  it: 
My  sleep  were  now  nine  centuries 
But  for  those  mornings  when  I  find 
The  lapwing  at  their  foolish  cries 
And  the  sheep  bleating  at  the  wind 


56    THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

As  when  I  also  played  the  fool.' 

The  beggar  in  a  rage  began 

Upon  his  hunkers  in  the  hole, 

'It's  plain  that  you  are  no  right  man 

To  mock  at  everything  I  love 

As  if  it  were  not  worth  the  doing. 

I'd  have  a  merry  life  enough 

If  a  good  Easter  wind  were  blowing, 

And  though  the  winter  wind  is  bad 

I  should  not  be  too  down  in  the  mouth 

For  anything  you  did  or  said 

If  but  this  wind  were  in  the  south.' 

But   the   other   cried,    'You   long   for 

spring 

Or  that  the  wind  would  shift  a  point 
And    do   not   know   that   you    would 

bring, 

If  time  were  suppler  in  the  joint, 
Neither  the  spring  nor  the  south  wind 
But   the   hour   when   you   shall   pass 

away 

And  leave  no  smoking  wick  behind, 
For  all  life  longs  for  the  Last  Day 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN    57 

And  there's  no  man  but  cocks  his  ear 
To    know    when    Michael's    trumpet 

cries 

That  flesh  and  bone  may  disappear, 
And  souls  as  if  they  were  but  sighs, 
And  there  be  nothing  but  God  left; 
But  I  alone  being  blessed  keep 
Like  some  old  rabbit  to  my  cleft 
And  wait  Him  in  a  drunken  sleep.' 

He  dipped  his  ladle  in  the  tub 

And  drank  and  yawned  and  stretched 

him  out. 

The  other  shouted,  'You  would  rob 
My  life  of  every  pleasant  thought 
And  every  comfortable  thing 
And  so  take  that  and  that.'    Thereon 
He  gave  him  a  great  pummelling, 
But  might  have  pummelled  at  a  stone 
For  all  the  sleeper  knew  or  cared; 
And  after  heaped  the  stones  again 
And  cursed  and  prayed,  and  prayed 

and  cursed: 


58    THE  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

*  Oh  God  if  he  got  loose!'    And  then 
In  fury  and  in  panic  fled 
From  the  Hell  Mouth  at  Cruachan 
And  gave  God  thanks  that  overhead 
The  clouds  were  brightening  with  the 
dawn. 


THE  PLAYER  QUEEN 

(Song  from  an  Unfinished  Play) 

MY  mother  dandled  me  and  sang, 
'How  young  it  is,  how  young!' 
And  made  a  golden  cradle 
That  on  a  willow  swung. 

*  He  went  away,'  my  mother  sang, 
'  When  I  was  brought  to  bed,' 
And  all  the  while  her  needle  pulled 
The  gold  and  silver  thread. 

She   pulled   the   thread    and    bit   the 

thread 

And  made  a  golden  gown, 
And  wept  because  she  had  dreamt  that  I 
Was  born  to  wear  a  crown. 

59 


60       THE  PLAYER  QUEEN 

'When  she  was  got,'  my  mother  sang, 
*  I  heard  a  sea-mew  cry, 
And  saw  a  flake  of  the  yellow  foam 
That  dropped  upon  my  thigh.' 

How    therefore    could    she    help    but 

braid 

The  gold  into  my  hair, 
And  dream  that  I  should  carry 
The  golden  top  of  care? 


THE  REALISTS 

HOPE  that  you  may  understand ! 
What  can  books  of  men  that  wive 
In  a  dragon-guarded  land, 
Paintings  of  the  dolphin-drawn 
Sea-nymphs  in  their  pearly  waggons 
Do,  but  awake  a  hope  to  live 
That  had  gone 
With  the  dragons? 


I 

THE  WITCH 

TOIL  and  grow  rich, 
What's  that  but  to  lie 
With  a  foul  witch 
And  after,  drained  dry, 
To  be  brought 
To  the  chamber  where 
Lies  one  long  sought 
With  despair. 


II 

THE  PEACOCK 

WHAT'S  riches  to  him 

That  has  made  a  great  peacock 

With  the  pride  of  his  eye? 

The  wind-beaten,  stone-grey, 

And  desolate  Three-rock 

Would  nourish  his  whim. 

Live  he  or  die 

Amid  wet  rocks  and  heather, 

His  ghost  will  be  gay 

Adding  feather  to  feather 

For  the  pride  of  his  eye. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOMB 

POUR  wine  and  dance  if  Manhood  still 
have  pride, 

Bring  roses  if  the  rose  be  yet  in  bloom; 

The  cataract  smokes  upon  the  moun- 
tain side, 

Our  Father  Rosicross  is  in  his  tomb. 

Pull  down  the  blinds,  bring  fiddle  and 

•clarionet 
That  there  be  no  foot  silent  in  the 

room 
Nor   mouth   from    kissing,    nor   from 

wine  unwet; 
Our  Father  Rosicross  is  in  his  tomb. 

In  vain,  in  vain;  the  cataract  still 
cries 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOMB      65 

The  everlasting  taper  lights  the  gloom; 
All  wisdom  shut  into  his  onyx  eyes 
Our    Father    Rosicross    sleeps    in    his 
tomb. 


TO  A  CHILD  DANCING  IN 
THE  WIND 


DANCE  there  upon  the  shore; 
What  need  have  you  to  care 
For  wind  or  water's  roar? 
And  tumble  out  your  hair 
That  the  salt  drops  have  wet; 
Being  young  you  have  not  known 
The  fool's  triumph,  nor  yet 
Love  lost  as  soon  as  won, 
Nor  the  best  labourer  dead 
And  all  the  sheaves  to  bind. 
What  need  have  you  to  dread 
The  monstrous  crying  of  wind? 

ii 

Has  no  one  said  those  daring 
Kind  eyes  should  be  more  learn'd? 


TO  A  CHILD  67 

Or  warned  you  how  despairing 

The  moths  are  when  they  are  burned, 

I  could  have  warned  you,  but  you  are 

young, 
So  we  speak  a  different  tongue. 

O  you  will  take  whatever's  offered 
And    dream    that    all    the    world's    a 

friend, 

Suffer  as  your  mother  suffered, 
Be  as  broken  in  the  end. 
But  I  am  old  and  you  are  young, 
And  I  speak  a  barbarous  tongue. 


A  MEMORY  OF  YOUTH 

THE  moments  passed  as  at  a  play, 
I  had  the  wisdom  love  brings  forth; 
I  had  my  share  of  mother  wit 
And  yet  for  all  that  I  could  say, 
And  though  I  had  her  praise  for  it, 
A   cloud   blown   from   the   cut-throat 

north 
Suddenly  hid  love's  moon  away. 

Believing  every  word  I  said 

I  praised  her  body  and  her  mind 

Till  pride  had   made  her  eyes  grow 

bright, 
And  pleasure  made  her  cheeks  grow 

red, 

And  vanity  her  footfall  light, 
Yet  we,  for  all  that  praise,  could  find 
Nothing  but  darkness  overhead. 

68 


A  MEMORY  OF  YOUTH      69 

We  sat  as  silent  as  a  stone, 

We   knew,   though   she'd   not   said   a 

word, 

That  even  the  best  of  love  must  die, 
And  had  been  savagely  undone 
Were  it  not  that  love  upon  the  cry 
Of  a  most  ridiculous  little  bird 
Tore  from  the  clouds  his  marvellous 

moon. 


FALLEN  MAJESTY 

ALTHOUGH    crowds    gathered    once    if 

she  but  showed  her  face, 
And  even  old  men's  eyes  grew  dim, 

this  hand  alone, 
Like   some   last   courtier   at   a   gypsy 

camping  place, 
Babbling   of   fallen   majesty,    records 

what's  gone. 

The  lineaments,  a  heart  that  laughter 

has  made  sweet, 
These,    these    remain,    but    I    record 

what's  gone.     A  crowd 
Will  gather,  and  not  know  it  walks 

the  very  street 
Whereon   a   thing   once   walked    that 

seemed  a  burning  cloud. 


FRIENDS 

Now  must  I  these  three  praise — 
Three  women  that  have  wrought 
What  joy  is  in  my  days; 
One  that  no  passing  thought, 
Nor  those  unpassing  cares, 
No,  not  in  these  fifteen 
Many  times  troubled  years, 
Could  ever  come  between 
Heart  and  delighted  heart; 
And  one  because  her  hand 
Had  strength  that  could  unbind 
What  none  can  understand, 
What  none  can  have  and  thrive, 
Youth's  dreamy  load,  till  she 
So  changed  me  that  I  live 
Labouring  in  ecstasy. 
And  what  of  her  that  took 
All  till  my  youth  was  gone 

71 


72  FRIENDS 

With  scarce  a  pitying  look? 
How  should  I  praise  that  one? 
When  day  begins  to  break 
I  count  my  good  and  bad, 
Being  wakeful  for  her  sake, 
Remembering  what  she  had, 
What  eagle  look  still  shows, 
While  up  from  my  heart's  root 
So  great  a  sweetness  flows 
I  shake  from  head  to  foot. 


THE  COLD  HEAVEN 

SUDDENLY  I  saw  the  cold  and  rook- 
delighting  Heaven 
That  seemed  as  though  ice  burned  and 

was  but  the  more  ice, 
And  thereupon  imagination  and  heart 

were  driven 
So    wild    that    every    casual    thought 

of  that  and  this 
Vanished,  and  left  but  memories,  that 

should  be  out  of  season 
With  the  hot  blood  of  youth,  of  love 

crossed  long  ago; 
And  I  took  all  the  blame  out  of  all 

sense  and  reason, 
Until  I  cried  and  trembled  and  rocked 

to  and  fro, 
Riddled    with   light.      Ah!   when   the 

ghost  begins  to  quicken, 

73 


74         THE  COLD  HEAVEN 

Confusion  of  the  death-bed  over,  is  it 
sent 

Out  naked  on  the  roads,  as  the  books 
say,  and  stricken 

By  the  injustice  of  the  skies  for  pun- 
ishment? 


THAT  THE  NIGHT  COME 

SHE  lived  in  storm  and  strife, 
Her  soul  had  such  desire 
For  what  proud  death  may  bring 
That  it  could  not  endure 
The  common  good  of  life, 
But  lived  as  'twere  a  king 
That  packed  his  marriage  day 
With  banneret  and  pennon, 
Trumpet  and  kettledrum, 
And  the  outrageous  cannon, 
To  bundle  time  away 
That  the  night  come. 


75 


AN  APPOINTMENT 

BEING  out  of  heart  with  government 

I  took  a  broken  root  to  fling 

Where   the  proud,   wayward   squirrel 

went, 

Taking  delight  that  he  could  spring; 
And    he,    with    that    low    whinnying 

sound 

That  is  like  laughter,  sprang  again 
And  so  to  the  other  tree  at  a  bound. 
Nor  the  tame  will,  nor  timid  brain, 
Bred    that   fierce   tooth   and    cleanly 

limb 
And  threw  him  up  to  laugh  on  the 

bough; 
No  government  appointed  him. 


THE  MAGI 

Now  as  at  all  times  I  can  see  in  the 
mind's  eye, 

In  their  stiff,  painted  clothes,  the  pale 
unsatisfied  ones 

Appear  and  disappear  in  the  blue 
depth  of  the  sky 

With  all  their  ancient  faces  like  rain- 
beaten  stones, 

And  all  their  helms  of  silver  hovering 
side  by  side, 

And  all  then*  eyes  still  fixed,  hoping 
to  find  once  more, 

Being  by  Calvary's  turbulence  un- 
satisfied, 

The  uncontrollable  mystery  on  the 
bestial  floor. 


77 


n 

THE  DOLLS 

A  DOLL  in  the  doll-maker's  house 
Looks  at  the  cradle  and  balls: 
'That  is  an  insult  to  us/ 
But  the  oldest  of  all  the  dolls 
Who  had  seen,  being  kept  for  show, 
Generations  of  his  sort, 
Out-screams    the    whole    shelf:    'Al- 
though 

There's  not  a  man  can  report 
Evil  of  this  place, 
The  man  and  the  woman  bring 
Hither  to  our  disgrace, 
A  noisy  and  filthy  thing.' 
Hearing  him  groan  and  stretch 
The  doll-maker's  wife  is  aware 
Her  husband  has  heard  the  wretch, 
And  crouched  by  the  arm  of  his  chair, 

78 


THE  DOLLS  79 

She  murmurs  into  his  ear, 
Head  upon  shoulder  leant: 
'My  dear,  my  dear,  oh  dear, 
It  was  an  accident.' 


A  COAT 

I  MADE  my  song  a  coat 
Covered  with  embroideries 
Out  of  old  mythologies 
From  heel  to  throat; 
But  the  fools  caught  it, 
Wore  it  in  the  world's  eye 
As  though  they'd  wrought  it. 
Song,  let  them  take  it 
For  there's  more  enterprise 
In  walking  naked. 


While      I,     from     that     reed-throated 

whisperer 
Who  comes  at  need,  although  not  now 

as  once 

A  clear  articulation  in  the  air 
But  inwardly,  surmise  companions 
Beyond  the  fling  of  the  dull  ass's  hoof, 
— Ben  Jonsons  phrase — and  find  when 

June  is  come 

At  Kyle-na-no  under  that  ancient  roof 
A  sterner  conscience   and  a  friendlier 

home, 

I  can  forgive  even  that  wrong  of  wrongs, 
Those    undreamt    accidents    that    have 

made  me 
— Seeing  that  Fame  has  perished  this 

long  while 

Being  but  a  part  of  ancient  ceremony — 
Notorious,  till  all  my  priceless  things 
Are  but  a  post  the  passing  dogs  defile. 


81 


FROM  THE  GREEN  HELMET 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


HIS  DREAM 

I  SWAYED  upon  the  gaudy  stern 
The  butt  end  of  a  steering  oar, 
And  everywhere  that  I  could  turn 
Men  ran  upon  the  shore. 

And  though  I  would  have  hushed  the 

crowd 

There  was  no  mother's  son  but  said, 
'What  is  the  figure  in  a  shroud 
Upon  a  gaudy  bed?' 

And  fishes  bubbling  to  the  brim 
Cried  out  upon  that  thing  beneath, 
— It  had  such  dignity  of  limb — 
By  the  sweet  name  of  Death. 

Though  I'd  my  finger  on  my  lip, 
What  could  I  but  take  up  the  song? 

85 


J  HIS  DREAM 

And  fish  and  crowd  and  gaudy  ship 
Cried  out  the  whole  night  long, 

Crying  amid  the  glittering  sea, 
Naming  it  with  ecstatic  breath, 
Because  it  had  such  dignity 
By  the  sweet  name  of  Death. 


A  WOMAN  HOMER  SUNG 

IF  any  man  drew  near 
When  I  was  young, 
I  thought,  *  He  holds  her  dear,' 
And  shook  with  hate  and  fear. 
But  oh,  'twas  bitter  wrong 
If  he  could  pass  her  by 
With  an  indifferent  eye. 

Whereon  I  wrote  and  wrought, 
And  now,  being  grey, 
I  dream  that  I  have  brought 
To  such  a  pitch  my  thought 
That  coming  time  can  say, 
'He  shadowed  in  a  glass 
What  thing  her  body  was.' 

For  she  had  fiery  blood 
When  I  was  young, 

87 


88   A  WOMAN  HOMER  SUNG 

And  trod  so  sweetly  proud 
As  'twere  upon  a  cloud, 
A  woman  Homer  sung, 
That  life  and  letters  seem 
But  an  heroic  dream. 


THE  CONSOLATION 

I  HAD  this  thought  awhile  ago, 
'My  darling  cannot  understand 
What  I   have  done,   or  what   would 

do 
In  this  blind  bitter  land.' 

And  I  grew  weary  of  the  sun 

Until  my  thoughts  cleared  up  again, 

Remembering   that  the  best   I   have 

done 
Was  done  to  make  it  plain; 

That   every   year   I   have   cried,    'At 

length 

My  darling  understands  it  all, 
Because  I  have  come  into  my  strength, 
And  words  obey  my  call/ 


90         THE  CONSOLATION 

That  had  she  done  so  who  can  say 
What   would   have   shaken   from   the 

sieve? 

I  might  have  thrown  poor  words  away 
And  been  content  to  live. 


NO  SECOND  TROY 

WHY   should   I   blame   her   that   she 

filled  my  days 

With  misery,  or  that  she  would  of  late 
Have   taught  to   ignorant   men   most 

violent  ways, 
Or  hurled  the  little  streets  upon  the 

great, 

Had  they  but  courage  equal  to  desire? 
What  could  have  made  her  peaceful 

with  a  mind 

That  nobleness  made  simple  as  a  fire, 
With  beauty  like  a  tightened  bow,  a 

kind 

That  is  not  natural  in  an  age  like  this, 
Being    high    and    solitary    and    most 

stern? 
Why,  what  could  she  have  done  being 

what  she  is? 
Was  there  another  Troy  for  her  to 

burn? 

91        - 


RECONCILIATION 

SOME  may  have  blamed  you  that  you 

took  away 
The  verses  that  could  move  them  on 

the  day 
When,  the  ears   being  deafened,   the 

sight  of  the  eyes  blind 
With   lightning   you   went   from   me, 

and  I  could  find 
Nothing  to  make  a  song  about  but 

kings, 

Helmets,    and    swords,    and    half-for- 
gotten things 
That  were  like  memories  of  you — but 

now 
We'll  out,  for  the  world  lives  as  long 

ago; 
And    while    we're    in    our    laughing, 

weeping  fit, 

92 


RECONCILIATION  93 

Hurl    helmets,    crowns,    and    swords 

into  the  pit. 
But,   dear,   cling   close   to   me;    since 

you  were  gone, 
My  barren  thoughts  have  chilled  me 

to  the  bone. 


KING  AND  NO  KING 

'WOULD  it  were  anything  but  merely 

voice!' 
The  No  King  cried  who  after  that  was 

King, 

Because  he  had  not  heard  of  anything 
That   balanced  with  a  word  is  more 

than  noise; 
Yet  Old  Romance  being  kind,  let  him 

prevail 
Somewhere  or  somehow  that  I  have 

forgot, 
Though    he'd    but    cannon — Whereas 

we  that  had  thought 
To  have  lit  upon  as  clean  and  sweet 

a  tale 
Have  been  defeated   by  that  pledge 

you  gave 
In  momentary  anger  long  ago; 

94 


KING  AND  NO  KING        95 

And  I  that  have  not  your  faith,  how 
shall  I  know 

That  in  the  blinding  light  beyond  the 
grave 

We'll  find  so  good  a  thing  as  that  we 
have  lost? 

The  hourly  kindness,  the  day's  com- 
mon speech, 

The  habitual  content  of  each  with  each 

When  neither  soul  nor  body  has  been 
crossed. 


PEACE 

AH,  that  Time  could  touch  a  form 
That  could  show  what  Homer's  age 
Bred  to  be  a  hero's  wage. 
*  Were  not  all  her  life  but  storm, 
Would  not  painters  paint  a  form 
Of  such  noble  lines,'  I  said, 
'Such  a  delicate  high  head, 
All  that  sternness  amid  charm, 
All  that  sweetness  amid  strength?' 
Ah,  but  peace  that  comes  at  length, 
Came   when   Time   had   touched   her 
form. 


AGAINST  UNWORTHY  PRAISE 

O  HEART,  be  at  peace,  because 
Nor  knave  nor  dolt  can  break 
What's  not  for  their  applause, 
Being  for  a  woman's  sake. 
Enough  if  the  work  has  seemed, 
So  did  she  your  strength  renew, 
A  dream  that  a  lion  had  dreamed 
Till  the  wilderness  cried  aloud, 
A  secret  between  you  two, 
Between  the  proud  and  the  proud. 

What,    still    you    would    have    their 

praise ! 

But  here's  a  haughtier  text, 
The  labyrinth  of  her  days 
That  her  own  strangeness  perplexed; 
And  how  what  her  dreaming  gave 
Earned  slander,  ingratitude, 

97 


98  AGAINST  UNWORTHY  PRAISE 

From  self -same  dolt  and  knave; 
Aye,  and  worse  wrong  than  these, 
Yet  she,  singing  upon  her  road, 
Half  lion,  half  child,  is  at  peace. 


THE  FASCINATION  OF  WHAT'S 
DIFFICULT 

THE  fascination  of  what's  difficult 
Has  dried  the  sap  out  of  my  veins, 

and  rent 

Spontaneous  joy  and  natural  content 
Out  of  my  heart.    There's  something 

ails  our  colt 

That  must,  as  if  it  had  not  holy  blood, 
Nor  on  an  Olympus  leaped  from  cloud 

to  cloud, 
Shiver  under  the  lash,  strain,  sweat 

and  jolt 
As  though  it  dragged  road  metal.    My 

curse  on  plays 

That  have  to  be  set  up  in  fifty  ways, 
On  the  day's  war  with  every  knave 

and  dolt, 

99 


100       WHAT'S  DIFFICULT 

Theatre  business,  management  of  men. 
I  swear  before  the  dawn  comes  round 

again 
I'll  find  the  stable  and  pull  out  the 

bolt. 


A  DRINKING  SONG 

WINE  comes  in  at  the  mouth 
And  love  comes  in  at  the  eye; 
That's  all  we  shall  know  for  truth 
Before  we  grow  old  and  die. 
I  lift  the  glass  to  my  mouth, 
I  look  at  you,  and  I  sigh. 


101 


THE  COMING  OF  WISDOM  WITH 
TIME 

THOUGH  leaves  are  many,  the  root  is 

one; 
Through   all   the   lying   days   of   my 

youth 
I  swayed  my  leaves  and  flowers  in  the 

sun; 
Now  I  may  wither  into  the  truth. 


ON  HEARING  THAT  THE  STUDENTS 
OF  OUR  NEW  UNIVERSITY  HAVE 
JOINED  THE  ANCIENT  ORDER  OF 
HIBERNIANS  AND  THE  AGITATION 
AGAINST  IMMORAL  LITERATURE 

WHERE,   where  but  here  have  Pride 

and  Truth, 

That  long  to  give  themselves  for  wage, 
To  shake  their  wicked  sides  at  youth 
Restraining  reckless  middle-age. 


103 


TO  A  POET,  WHO  WOULD  HAVE  ME 
PRAISE  CERTAIN  BAD  POETS,  IMI- 
TATORS OF  HIS  AND  MINE 

You  say,  as  I  have  often  given  tongue 
In  praise  of  what  another's  said  or 

sung, 

'Twere  politic  to  do  the  like  by  these; 
But  have  you  known  a  dog  to  praise 

his  fleas? 


104 


THE  MASK 

'PuT  off  that  mask  of  burning  gold 
With  emerald  eyes.' 
*O  no,  my  dear,  you  make  so  bold 
To  find  if  hearts  be  wild  and  wise, 
And  yet  not  cold/ 

*I  would  but  find  what's  there  to  find, 
Love  or  deceit.' 

*  It  was  the  mask  engaged  your  mind, 
And  after  set  your  heart  to  beat, 
Not  what's  behind.' 

'But  lest  you  are  my  enemy, 
I  must  enquire.' 
*O  no,  my  dear,  let  all  that  be, 
What  matter,  so  there  is  but  fire 
In  you,  in  me?' 


105 


UPON  A  HOUSE  SHAKEN  BY 
THE  LAND  AGITATION 

How  should  the  world  be  luckier  if 

this  house, 
Where    passion    and    precision    have 

been  one 

Time  out  of  mind,  became  too  ruinous 
To  breed  the  lidless  eye  that  loves  the 

sun? 
And  the  sweet  laughing  eagle  thoughts 

that  grow 
Where  wings  have  memory  of  wings, 

and  all 
That  comes  of  the  best  knit  to  the 

best?    Although 
Mean  roof-trees  were  the  sturdier  for 

its  fall, 
How  should  their  luck  run  high  enough 

to  reach 

106 


THE  LAND  AGITATION    107 

The  gifts  that  govern  men,  and  after 

these 
To  gradual  Time's  last  gift,  a  written 

speech 
Wrought  of  high  laughter,  loveliness 

and  ease? 


AT  THE  ABBEY  THEATRE 

(Imitated  from  Ronsard) 

DEAR   Craoibhin   Aoibhin,    look   into 

our  case. 
When  we  are  high  and  airy  hundreds 

say 
That   if   we   hold   that   flight   they'll 

leave  the  place, 
While    those    same    hundreds    mock 

another  day 
Because   we   have   made   our   art   of 

common  things, 
So  bitterly,  you'd  dream  they  longed 

to  look 
All  their  lives  through  into  some  drift 

of  wings. 
You've  dandled  them  and  fed  them 

from  the  book 

108 


AT  THE  ABBEY  THEATRE     109 

And  know  them  to  the  bone;  impart 

to  us — 
We'll  keep  the  secret — a  new  trick  to 

please. 

Is  there  a  bridle  for  this  Proteus 
That    turns    and     changes     like    his 

draughty  seas? 

Or  is  there  none,  most  popular  of  men, 
But  when  they  mock  us  that  we  mock 

again? 


THESE  ARE  THE  CLOUDS 

THESE  are  the  clouds  about  the  fallen 

sun, 
The  majesty  that  shuts  his  burning 

eye; 
The    weak    lay    hand    on    what    the 

strong  has  done, 
Till  that  be  tumbled  that  was  lifted 

high 

And  discord  follow  upon  unison, 
And  all  things  at  one  common  level 

lie. 
And  therefore,   friend,   if  your  great 

race  were  run 
And  these  things  came,  so  much  the 

more  thereby 

Have  you  made  greatness  your  com- 
panion, 

no 


THESE  ARE  THE  CLOUDS    111 

Although  it  be  for  children  that  you 

sigh: 
These  are  the  clouds  about  the  fallen 

sun, 
The  majesty  that  shuts  his  burning 

eye. 


AT  GAL  WAY  RACES 

THERE  where  the  course  is, 
Delight  makes  all  of  the  one  mind, 
The  riders  upon  the  galloping  horses, 
The  crowd  that  closes  in  behind : 
We,  too,  had  good  attendance  once, 
Hearers  and  hearteners  of  the  work; 
Aye,  horsemen  for  companions, 
Before  the  merchant  and  the  clerk 
Breathed    on    the    world    with    timid 

breath. 
Sing  on:  sometime,  and  at  some  new 

moon, 

We'll  learn  that  sleeping  is  not  death, 
Hearing  the  whole   earth   change  its 

tune, 

Its  flesh  being  wild,  and  it  again 
Crying  aloud  as  the  race  course  is, 
And  we  find  hearteners  among  men 

That  ride  upon  horses. 
112 


A  FRIEND'S  ILLNESS 

SICKNESS  brought  me  this 
Thought,  in  that  scale  of  his: 
Why  should  I  be  dismayed 
Though  flame  had  burned  the  whole 
World,  as  it  were  a  coal, 
Now  I  have  seen  it  weighed 
Against  a  soul? 


us 


ALL  THINGS  CAN  TEMPT  ME 

ALL  things  can  tempt  me  from  this 

craft  of  verse: 
One  time  it  was  a  woman's  face,  or 

worse — 
The  seeming  needs  of  my  fool-driven 

land; 
Now  nothing  but  comes  readier  to  the 

hand 
Than  this  accustomed  toil.     When  I 

was  young, 

I  had  not  given  a  penny  for  a  song 
Did  not  the  poet  sing  it  with  such  airs 
That  one   believed   he  had   a  sword 

upstairs; 
Yet  would  be  now,  could  I  but  have 

my  wish, 
Colder  and  dumber  and  deafer  than 

a  fish. 

in 


THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  SONG 

I  WHISPERED,  *I  am  too  young,' 

And  then,  'I  am  old  enough;' 

Wherefore  I  threw  a  penny 

To  find  out  if  I  might  love. 

'Go   and   love,   go   and   love,   young 

man, 

If  the  lady  be  young  and  fair.' 
Ah,     penny,     brown     penny,     brown 

penny, 
I    am    looped    in    the    loops    of    her 

hair. 

Oh,  love  is  the  crooked  thing, 
There  is  nobody  wise  enough 
To  find  out  all  that  is  in  it, 
For  he  would  be  thinking  of  love 
Till  the  stars  had  run  away, 

115 


116    THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  SONG 

And  the  shadows  eaten  the  moon. 
Ah,     penny,     brown     penny,     brown 

penny, 
One  cannot  begin  it  too  soon. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS 
NEW  VERSION— 1912 


117 


THE  HOUR-GLASS 

THE  PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 
WISE  MAN. 
BRIDGET,  his  wife. 
TEIGUE,  a  fool. 
ANGEL. 
Children  and  Pupils. 

Pupils  come  in  and  stand  before  the 
stage  curtain,  which  is  still  closed.  One 
pupil  carries  a  book. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

He  said  we  might  choose  the  subject 
for  the  lesson. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

There  is  none  of  us  wise  enough  to 
do  that. 

119 


120         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

THIRD  PUPIL 

It  would  need  a  great  deal  of 
wisdom  to  know  what  it  is  we  want 
to  know. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 
I  will  question  him. 

FIFTH  PUPIL 
You? 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Last  night  I  dreamt  that  some  one 
came  and  told  me  to  question  him. 
I  was  to  say  to  him,  'You  were  wrong 
to  say  there  is  no  God  and  no  soul — 
maybe,  if  there  is  not  much  of  either, 
there  is  yet  some  tatters,  some  tag 
on  the  wind — so  to  speak — some  rag 
upon  a  bush,  some  bob-tail  of  a  god.' 
I  will  argue  with  him, — nonsense 
though  it  be — according  to  my  dream, 
and  you  will  see  how  well  I  can  argue, 
and  what  thoughts  I  have. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         121 

FIRST  PUPIL 

I'd  as  soon  listen  to  dried  peas  in 
a  bladder,  as  listen  to  your  thoughts. 
[Fool  comes  in. 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

Let  us  choose  a  subject  by  chance. 
Here  is  his  big  book.  Let  us  turn 
over  the  pages  slowly.  Let  one  of  us 
put  down  his  finger  without  looking. 
The  passage  his  finger  lights  on  will 
be  the  subject  for  the  lesson. 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny. 

THIRD  PUPIL 
(Taking   up   book)     How   heavy   it 


122         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Spread  it  on  Teigue's  back,  and 
then  we  can  all  stand  round  and  see 
the  choice. 

SECOND  PUPIL 
Make  him  spread  out  his  arms. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Down  on  your  knees.  Hunch  up 
your  back.  Spread  your  arms  out 
now,  and  look  like  a  golden  eagle  in 
a  church.  Keep  still,  keep  still. 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny. 

THIRD  PUPIL 

Is  that  the  right  cry  for  an  eagle 
cock? 

SECOND  PUPIL 

I'll  turn  the  pages — you  close  your 
eyes  and  put  your  finger  down. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         123 

THIRD  PUPIL 

That's  it,  and  then  he  cannot  blame 
us  for  the  choice. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

There,  I  have  chosen.  Fool,  keep 
still — and  if  what's  wise  is  strange  and 
sounds  like  nonsense,  we've  made  a 
good  choice. 

FIFTH  PUPIL 
The  Master  has  come. 

FOOL 

Will  anybody  give  a  penny  to  a  fool? 
[One  of  the  pupils  draws  back  the 
stage  curtain  showing  the  Master 
sitting  at  his  desk.  There  is  an 
hour-glass  upon  his  desk  or  in 
a  bracket  on  the  wall.  One  pupil 
puts  the  book  before  him. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

We  have  chosen  the  passage  for 
the  lesson,  Master.  *  There  are  two 


124         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

living  countries,  one  visible  and  one 
invisible,  and  when  it  is  summer  there, 
it  is  winter  here,  and  when  it  is  Novem- 
ber with  us,  it  is  lambing-time  there.' 

WISE  MAN 

That  passage,  that  passage!  what 
mischief  has  there  been  since  yester- 
day? 

FIRST  PUPIL 
None,  Master. 

WISE  MAN 

Oh  yes,  there  has;  some  craziness 
has  fallen  from  the  wind,  or  risen 
from  the  graves  of  old  men,  and  made 
you  choose  that  subject. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

I  knew  that  it  was  folly,  but  they 
would  have  it. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         125 

THIRD  PUPIL 

Had  we  not  better  say  we  picked 
it  by  chance? 

SECOND  PUPIL 
No;  he  would  say  we  were  children 

stm. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

I  have  found  a  sentence  under  that 
one  that  says — :as  though  to  show  it 
had  a  hidden  meaning — a  beggar  wrote 
it  upon  the  walls  of  Babylon. 

WISE  MAN 

Then  find  some  beggar  and  ask  him 
what  it  means,  for  I  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Come,  Teigue,  what  is  the  old  book's 
meaning  when  it  says  that  there 
are  sheep  that  drop  their  lambs  in 
November? 


126         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FOOL 

To  be  sure — everybody  knows, 
everybody  in  the  world  knows,  when 
it  is  Spring  with  us,  the  trees  are 
withering  there,  when  it  is  Summer 
with  us,  the  snow  is  falling  there, 
and  have  I  not  myself  heard  the  lambs 
that  are  there  all  bleating  on  a  cold 
November  day — to  be  sure,  does  not 
everybody  with  an  intellect  know 
that;  and  maybe  when  it's  night 
with  us,  it  is  day  with  them,  for  many 
a  time  I  have  seen  the  roads  lighted 
before  me. 

WISE  MAN 

The  beggar  who  wrote  that  on 
Babylon  wall  meant  that  there  is  a 
spiritual  kingdom  that  cannot  be  seen 
or  known  till  the  faculties  whereby 
we  master  the  kingdom  of  this  world 
wither  away,  like  green  things  in 
winter.  A  monkish  thought,  the 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         127 

most  mischievous  thought  that   ever 
passed  out  of  a  man's  mouth. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

If  he  meant  all  that,  I  will  take  an 
oath  that  he  was  spindle-shanked, 
and  cross-eyed,  and  had  a  lousy  itching 
shoulder,  and  that  his  heart  was 
crosser  than  his  eyes,  and  that  he 
wrote  it  out  of  malice. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

Let's  come  away  and  find  a  better 
subject. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

And  maybe  now  you'll  let  me 
choose. 

FIRST  PUPIL 
Come. 

WISE  MAN 

Were  it  but  true  'twould  alter  every- 
thing 

Until   the   stream   of   the   world   had 
changed  its  course, 


128         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

And  that  and  all  our  thoughts  had  run 
Into  some  cloudy  thunderous  spring 
They  dream  to  be  its  source — 
Aye,  to  some  frenzy  of  the  mind; 
And  all  that  we  have  done  would  be 

undone, 
Our  speculation  but  as  the  wind. 

[A  pause. 
I  have  dreamed  it  twice. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

Something  has 'troubled  him. 
[Pupils  go  out. 

WISE  MAN 

Twice  have  I  dreamed  it  in  a  morning 
dream, 

Now  nothing  serves  my  pupils  but  to 
come 

With  a  like  thought.  Reason  is  grow- 
ing dim; 

A  moment  more  and  Frenzy  will  beat 
his  drum 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         129 

And  laugh  aloud  and  scream; 

And  I  must  dance  in  the  dream. 

No,  no,  but  it  is  like  a  hawk,  a  hawk  of 

the  air, 
It  has  swooped  down — and  this  swoop 

makes  the  third — 
And  what  can  I,  but  tremble  like  a 

bird? 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny. 

WISE  MAN 

That  I  should  dream  it  twice,  and 
after  that,  that  they  should  pick  it  out. 

FOOL 
Won't  you  give  me  a  penny? 

WISE  MAN 

What  do  you  want?  What  can  it 
matter  to  you  whether  the  words  I 
am  reading  are  wisdom  or  sheer  folly? 


130         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FOOL 

Such  a  great,  wise  teacher  will  not 
refuse  a  penny  to  a  fool. 

WISE  MAN 

Seeing  that  everybody  is  a  fool 
when  he  is  asleep  and  dreaming,  why 
do  you  call  me  wise? 

FOOL 

O,  I  know, — I  know,  I  know  what 
I  have  seen. 

WISE  MAN 

Well,  to  see  rightly  is  the  whole  of 
wisdom,  whatever  dream  be  with  us. 

FOOL 

When  I  went  by  Kilcluan,  where 
the  bells  used  to  be  ringing  at  the 
break  of  every  day,  I  could  hear  noth- 
ing but  the  people  snoring  in  their 
houses.  When  I  went  by  Tubber- 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         131 

vanach,  where  the  young  men  used 
to  be  climbing  the  hill  to  the  blessed 
well,  they  were  sitting  at  the  cross- 
roads playing  cards.  When  I  went 
by  Carrigoras,  where  the  friars  used 
to  be  fasting  and  serving  the  poor,  I 
saw  them  drinking  wine  and  obeying 
their  wives.  And  when  I  asked  what 
misfortune  had  brought  all  these 
changes,  they  said  it  was  no  mis- 
fortune, but  that  it  was  the  wisdom 
they  had  learned  from  your  teaching. 

WISE  MAN 

And  you  too  have  called  me  wise 
— you  would  be  paid  for  that  good 
opinion  doubtless — Run  to  the  kitchen, 
my  wife  will  give  you  food  and  drink. 

FOOL 

That's  foolish  advice  for  a  wise  man 
to  give. 


132         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

WISE  MAN 
Why,  Fool? 

FOOL 

What  is  eaten  is  gone — I  want 
pennies  for  my  bag.  I  must  buy 
bacon  in  the  shops,  and  nuts  in  the 
market,  and  strong  drink  for  the  time 
the  sun  is  weak,  and  snares  to  catch 
the  rabbits  and  the  hares,  and  a  big 
pot  to  cook  them  in. 

WISE  MAN 

I  have  more  to  think  about  than 
giving  pennies  to  your  like,  so  run 
away. 

FOOL 

Give  me  a  penny  and  I  will  bring 
you  luck.  The  fishermen  let  me  sleep 
among  their  nets  in  the  loft  because 
I  bring  them  luck;  and  in  the  summer 
time,  the  wild  creatures  let  me  sleep 
near  their  nests  and  their  holes.  It 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         133 

is  lucky  even  to  look  at  me,  but  it  is 
much  more  lucky  to  give  me  a  penny. 
If  I  was  not  lucky  I  would  starve. 

WISE  MAN 
What  are  the  shears  for? 

FOOL 

I  won't  tell  you.     If  I  told  you,  you 
would  drive  them  away. 

WISE  MAN 

Drive  them  away!    Who  would  I 
drive  away? 

FOOL 

I  won't  tell  you. 

WISE  MAN 
Not  if  I  give  you  a  penny? 

FOOL 
No. 

WISE  MAN 

Not  if  I  give  you  two  pennies? 


134         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FOOL 

You  will  be  very  lucky  if  you  give 
me  two  pennies,  but  I  won't  tell  you. 

WISE  MAN 
Three  pennies? 

FOOL 
Four,  and  I  will  tell  you. 

WISE  MAN 

Very  well — four,  but  from  this  out 
I  will  not  call  you  Teigue  the  Fool. 

FOOL 

Let  me  come  close  to  you,  where 
nobody  will  hear  me;  but  first  you 
must  promise  not  to  drive  them  away. 
(Wise  Man  nods.)  Every  day  men 
go  out  dressed  in  black  and  spread 
great  black  nets  over  the  hills,  great 
black  nets. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         135 

WISE  MAN 
A  strange  place  that  to  fish  in, 

FOOL 

They  spread  them  out  on  the  hills 
that  they  may  catch  the  feet  of  the 
angels;  but  every  morning  just  before 
the  dawn,  I  go  out  and  cut  the  nets 
with  the  shears  and  the  angels  fly 
away. 

WISE  MAN 

(Speaking  with  excitement)  Ah,  now 
I  know  that  you  are  Teigue  the  Fool. 
You  say  that  I  am  wise,  and  yet  I  say, 
there  are  no  angels. 

FOOL 
I  have  seen  plenty  of  angels. 

WISE  MAN 
No,  no,  you  have  not. 


136         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FOOL 

They  are  plenty  if  you  but  look 
about  you.  They  are  like  the  blades 
of  grass. 

WISE  MAN 

They  are  plenty  as  the  blades  of 
grass — I  heard  that  phrase  when  I 
was  but  a  child  and  was  told  folly. 

FOOL 

When  one  gets  quiet.  When  one 
is  so  quiet  that  there  is  not  a  thought 
in  one's  head  maybe,  there  is  some- 
thing that  wakes  up  inside  one,  some- 
thing happy  and  quiet,  and  then  all 
in  a  minute  one  can  smell  summer 
flowers,  and  tall  people  go  by,  happy 
and  laughing,  but  they  will  not  let  us 
look  at  their  faces.  Oh  no,  it  is  not 
right  that  we  should  look  at  their 
faces. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         137 

WISE  MAN 

You  have  fallen  asleep  upon  a  hill, 
yet,  even  those  that  used  to  dream  of 
angels  dream  now  of  other  things. 

FOOL 

I  saw  one  but  a  moment  ago — 
that  is  because  I  am  lucky.  It  was 
coming  behind  me,  but  it  was  not 
laughing. 

WISE  MAN 

There's  nothing  but  what  men  can 
see  when  they  are  awake.  Nothing, 
nothing. 

FOOL 
I  knew  you  would  drive  them  away. 

WISE  MAN 
Pardon  me,  Fool, 
I  had  forgotten  who  I  spoke  to. 
Well,  there  are  your  four  pennies — 
Fool  you  are  called, 


138         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

And    all   day   long   they   cry,    'Come 
hither,  Fool.' 

[The  Fool  goes  close  to  him. 
Or  else  it's,  'Fool,  be  gone.' 

[The  Fool  goes  further  off. 
Or,  'Fool,  stand  there.' 

[The  Fool  straightens  himself  up. 
Or,  'Fool,  go  sit  in  the  corner.' 

[The  Fool  sits  in  the  corner. 

And  all  the  while 

What  were  they  all  but  fools  before  I 

came? 
What  are  they  now,  but  mirrors  that 

seem  men, 

Because  of  my  image?     Fool,  hold  up 

your  head.  [Fool  does  so. 

What  foolish  stories  they  have  told  of 

the  ghosts 
That  fumbled  with  the  clothes  upon 

the  bed, 

Or  creaked  and  shuffled  in  the  corridor, 
Or  else,  if  they  were  pious  bred, 
Of  angels  from  the  skies, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         139 

That  coming  through  the  door, 
Or,  it  may  be,  standing  there, 
Would  solidly  out  stare 
The    steadiest    eyes    with    their    un- 
natural eyes, 
Aye,  on  a  man's  own  floor. 

[An  angel  has  come  in.  It  should 
be  played  by  a  man  if  a  man 
can  be  found  with  the  right 
voice,  and  may  wear  a  little 
golden  domino  and  a  halo  made 
of  metal.  Or  the  whole  face 
may  be  a  beautiful  mask,  in 
which  case  the  last  sentence  on 
page  136  should  not  be  spoken. 
Yet  it  is  strange,  the  strangest  thing 

I  have  known, 
That  I  should  still  be  haunted  by  the 

notion 
That    there's    a    crisis    of    the    spirit 

wherein 

We  get  new  sight,  and  that  they  know 
some  trick 


140         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

To  turn  our  thoughts  for  their  own 

ends  to  frenzy. 

Why  do  you  put  your  finger  to  your  lip, 
And  creep  away?  [Fool  goes  out. 

(Wise    Man   sees   Angel.)     What    are 

you?     Who  are  you? 
I  think  I  saw  some  like  you  in  my 

dreams, 
When  but  a  child.     That  thing  about 

your  head, — 
That    brightness    in    your    hair — that 

flowery  branch; 
But  I  have  done  with  dreams,  I  have 

done  with  dreams. 

ANGEL 

I  am  the  crafty  one  that  you  have 
called. 

WISE  MAN 
How  that  I  called? 

ANGEL 
I  am  the  messenger. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         141 

WISE  MAN 

What  message  could  you  bring  to  one 
like  me? 

ANGEL  (turning  the  hour-glass} 

That  you  will  die  when  the  last  grain 

of  sand 
Has  fallen  through  this  glass. 

WISE  MAN 

I  have  a  wife. 
Children    and    pupils    that    I    cannot 

leave: 
Why  must  I  die,  my  time  is  far  away? 

ANGEL 

You  have  to  die  because  no  soul  has 

passed 
The  heavenly  threshold  since  you  have 

opened  school, 
But  grass  grows  there,  and  rust  upon 

the  hinge; 


142         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

And  they  are  lonely  that  must  keep 
the  watch. 

WISE  MAN 

And  whither  shall  I  go  when  I  am 
dead? 

ANGEL 

You  have  denied  there  is  a  purgatory, 
Therefore    that    gate    is    closed;    you 

have  denied 
There  is  a  heaven,  and  so  that  gate  is 

closed. 

WISE  MAN 

Where  then?     For  I  have  said  there 
is  no  hell. 

ANGEL 

Hell  is  the  place  of  those  who  have 

denied; 
They  find  there  what  they  planted  and 

what  dug, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         143 

A  Lake   of   Spaces,   and   a   Wood   of 

Nothing, 
And  wander  there  and  drift,  and  never 

cease 
Wailing  for  substance. 

WISE  MAN 

Pardon  me,  blessed  Angel, 
I  have  denied  and  taught  the  like  to 

others. 
But  how  could  I  believe  before  my 

sight 
Had  come  to  me? 

ANGEL 
It  is  too  late  for  pardon. 

WISE  MAN 
Had  I  but  met  your  gaze  as  now  I 

met  it — 
But  how  can  you  that  live  but  where 

we  go 
In  the  uncertainty  of  dizzy  dreams 


144         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

Know  why  we  doubt?     Parting,  sick- 
ness and  death, 
The  rotting  of  the  grass,  tempest  and 

drouth, 
These  are  the  messengers  that  came 

to  me. 
Why  are  you  silent?     You  carry  in 

your  hands 
God's  pardon,  and  you  will  not  give  it 

me. 
Why    are   you    silent?      Were    I    not 

afraid, 
I'd  kiss  your  hands — no,  no,  the  hem 

of  your  dress. 

ANGEL 

Only  when  all  the  world  has  testified, 
May  soul  confound  it,  crying  out  in  joy, 
And  laughing  on  its  lonely  precipice. 
What's  dearth  and  death  and  sickness 

to  the  soul 
That  knows  no  virtue  but  itself?    Nor 

could  it, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         145 

So  trembling  with  delight  and  mother- 
naked, 

Live  unabashed  if  the  arguing  world 
stood  by. 

WISE  MAN 

It  is  as  hard  for  you  to  understand 
Why  we  have  doubted,  as  it  is  for  us 
To  banish  doubt — what  folly  have  I 

said? 
There  can  be  nothing  that  you  do  not 

know: 
Give  me  a  year — a  month — a  week — 

a  day, 
I  would  undo  what  I  have  done — an 

hour — 
Give  me  until  the  sand  has  run  in  the 

glass. 

ANGEL 
Though  you  may  not  undo  what  you 

have  done, 
I  have  this  power — if  you  but  find  one 

soul, 


146         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

Before  the  sands  have  fallen,  that  still 

believes, 
One  fish  to  lie  and  spawn  among  the 

stones 

Till  the  great  fisher's  net  is  full  again, 
You  may,  the  purgatorial  fire  being 


Spring  to  your  peace. 

[Pupils  sing  in  the  distance. 
'Who  stole  your  wits  away 
And  where  are  they  gone?' 

WISE  MAN 

My  pupils  come, 
Before  you  have  begun  to  climb  the 

sky 
I  shall  have  found  that  soul.     They 

say  they  doubt, 
But  what  their  mothers  dinned  into 

their  ears 

Cannot  have  been  so  lightly  rooted  up; 
Besides,  I  can  disprove  what  I  once 

proved — 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         147 

And  yet  give  me  some  thought,  some 

argument, 
More  mighty  than  my  own. 


ANGEL 

Farewell — farewell, 

For  I  am  weary  of  the  weight  of  time. 

[Angel  goes  out.    Wise  Man  makes 

a  step  to  follow  and  pauses. 

Some    of    his     pupils     come 

in    at   the   other   side   of  the 


FIRST  PUPIL 

Master,  master,  you  must  choose  the 

subject. 

[Enter  other  pupils  with  Fool, 
about  whom  they  dance;  all 
the  pupils  may  have  little 
cushions  on  which  presently 
they  seat  themselves. 


148         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

SECOND  PUPIL 
Here   is   a   subject — where   have   the 

Fool's  wits  gone?  (singing) 
'Who  dragged  your  wits  away 
Where  no  one  knows? 
Or  have  they  run  off 
On  their  own  pair  of  shoes?' 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny. 

FIRST  PUPIL 
The  Master  will  find  your  wits, 

SECOND  PUPIL 

And  when  they  are  found,  you  must 
not  beg  for  pennies. 

THIRD  PUPIL 
They   are   hidden   somewhere   in   the 

badger's  hole, 

But  you  must  carry  an  old  candle  end 
If  you  would  find  them. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         149 

FOURTH  PUPIL 
They  are  up  above  the  clouds. 

FOOL 
Give  me  a  penny,  give  me  a  penny. 

FIRST  PUPIL  (singing) 
'I'll  find  your  wits  again, 
Come,  for  I  saw  them  roll, 
To  where  old  badger  mumbles 
In  the  black  hole.' 

SECOND  PUPIL  (singing) 
'No,  but  an  angel  stole  them 
The  night  that  you  were  born, 
And  now  they  are  but  a  rag, 
On  the  moon's  horn.' 

WISE  MAN 
Be  silent. 

FIRST  PUPIL 
Can  you  not  see  that  he  is  troubled? 

[All  the  pupils  are  seated. 


150        THE  HOUR-GLASS 

WISE  MAN 
What  do  you  think  of  when  alone  at 

night? 
Do  not  the  things  your  mothers  spoke 

about, 
Before  they  took  the  candle  from  the 

bedside, 

Rush  up  into  the  mind  and  master  it, 
Till  you  believe  in  them  against  your 

will? 

SECOND  PUPIL  (to  first  pupil) 
You  answer  for  us. 

THIRD  PUPIL  (in  a  whisper  to  first 

pupil) 

Be  careful  what  you  say; 
If  he  persuades  you  to  an  argument, 
He  will  but  turn  us  all  to  mockery. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

We  had  no  minds  until  you  made  them 
for  us; 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         151 

Our   bodies   only   were   our   mothers' 
work. 

WISE  MAN 
You    answer   with    incredible    things. 

It  is  certain 
That  there  is  one, — though  it  may  be 

but  one — 
Believes  in  God  and  in  some  heaven 

and  hell — 
In  all  those  things  we  put  into  our 

prayers. 

FIRST  PUPIL 
We  thought  those  things  before  our 

minds  were  born, 
But  that  was  long  ago — we  are  not 

children. 

WISE  MAN 

You  are  afraid  to  tell  me  what  you  think 
Because  I  am  hot  and  angry  when  I 

am  crossed. 
I  do  not  blame  you  for  it;  but  have 

no  fear, 


152         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

For  if  there's  one  that  sat  on  smiling 

there, 
As  though  my  arguments  were  sweet 

as  milk 
Yet  found  them  bitter,  I  will  thank 

him  for  it, 
If  he  but  speak  his  mind. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

There  is  no  one,  Master, 
There  is  not  one  but  found  them  sweet 
as  milk. 

WISE  MAN 
The  things  that  have  been  told  us  in 

our  childhood 
Are  not  so  fragile. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

We  are  no  longer  children. 

THIRD  PUPIL 

We  all  believe  in  you  and  in  what  you 
have  taught. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         153 
OTHER  PUPILS 

All,  all,  all,  all,  in  you,  nothing  but 
you. 

WISE  MAN 

I  have  deceived  you — where  shall  I  go 

for  words — 
I   have   no   thoughts — my   mind   has 

been  swept  bare. 
The  messengers  that  stand  in  the  fiery 

cloud, 
Fling  themselves  out,  if  we  but  dare 

to  question, 

And  after  that,  the  Babylonian  moon 
Blots  all  away. 

FIRST  PUPIL  (to  other  pupils) 

I  take  his  words  to  mean 
That   visionaries,   and   martyrs   when 

they  are  raised 
Above  translunary  things,  and  there 

enlightened, 


154         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

As   the  contention   is,   may   lose  the 

light, 
And   flounder   in   their   speech   when 

the  eyes  open. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

How  well  he  imitates  their  trick  of 
speech. 

THIRD  PUPIL 
Their  air  of  mystery. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Their  empty  gaze, 
As  though  they'd  looked  upon  some 

winged  thing, 
And  would  not  condescend  to  mankind 

after. 

FIRST  PUPIL 
Master,  we  have  all  learnt  that  truth 

is  learnt 
When   the   intellect's    deliberate   and 

cold, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         155 

As  it  were  a  polished  mirror  that  re- 
flects 

An  unchanged  world;  and  not  when 
the  steel  melts, 

Bubbling  and  hissing,  till  there's 
naught  but  fume. 

WISE  MAN 

When  it  is  melted,  when  it  all  fumes  up, 
They  walk,  as  when  beside  those  three 

in  the  furnace 
The  form  of  the  fourth. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

Master,  there's  none  among  us 
That  has  not  heard  your  mockery  of 

these, 

Or  thoughts  like  these,  and  we  have 
not  forgot. 

WISE  MAN 

Something  incredible  has  happened — 
some  one  has  come 


156         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

Suddenly  like  a  grey  hawk  out  of  the 

air, 
And    all    that    I    declared    untrue    is 

true. 

FIRST  PUPIL  (to  other  pupils) 
You'd  think  the  way  he  says  it,  that 

he  felt  it. 
There's   not  a  mummer  to   compare 

with  him. 
He's  something  like  a  man. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

Give  us  some  proof. 

WISE  MAN 
What  proof  have  I  to  give,  but  that 

an  angel 
An  instant  ago  was  standing  on  that 

spot.  [The  pupils  rise. 

THIRD  PUPIL 
You  dreamed  it. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         157 

WISE  MAN 
I  was  awake  as  I  am  now. 

FIRST  PUPIL  (to  the  others) 

I  may  be  dreaming  now  for  all  I  know. 
He  wants  to  show  we  have  no  certain 

proof 
Of  anything  in  the  world. 

SECOND  PUPIL 

There  is  this  proof 
That  shows  we  are  awake — we  have  all 

one  world 
While  every  dreamer  has  a  world  of 

his  own, 
And  sees  what  no  one  else  can. 

THIRD  PUPIL 

Teigue  sees  angels. 
So  when  the  Master  says  he  has  seen 

an  angel, 
He  may  have  seen  one. 


158         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

FIRST  PUPIL 

Both  may   still   be  dreamers; 
Unless    it's   proved    the    angels    were 
alike. 

SECOND  PUPIL 
What  sort  are  the  angels,  Teigue? 

THIRD  PUPIL 

That  will  prove  nothing, 
Unless  we  are  sure  prolonged  obedience 
Has  made  one  angel  like  another  angel 
As  they  were  eggs. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

The  Master's  silent  now: 
For  he  has  found  that  to  dispute  with 

us — 
Seeing  that  he  has  taught  us  what  we 

know — 
Is  but  to  reason  with  himself.     Let  us 

away, 
And  find  if  there  is  one  believer  left. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         159 

WISE  MAN 
Yes,  yes.     Find  me  but  one  that  still 

believes 
The  things  that  we  were  told  when 

we  were  children. 

THIRD  PUPIL 
He'll  mock  and  maul  him. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

From  the  first  I  knew 
He  wanted  somebody  to  argue  with. 

[They  go. 

WISE  MAN 

I  have  no  reason  left.     All  dark,  all 
dark! 

[Pupils     return     laughing.     They 
push  forward  fourth  pupil. 

FIRST  PUPIL 

Here,  Master,  is  the  very  man  you 
want. 


160         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

He  said,  when  we  were  studying  the 

book, 
That  maybe  after  all  the  monks  were 

right, 
And  you  mistaken,  and  if  we  but  gave 

him  time, 
He'd  prove  that  it  was  so. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

I  never  said  it. 

WISE  MAN 

Dear  friend,  dear  friend,  do  you  be- 
lieve in  God? 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Master,   they   have   invented   this   to 
mock  me. 

WISE  MAN 
You  are  afraid  of  me. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         161 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

They  know  well,  Master, 
That  all  I  said  was  but  to  make  them 

argue. 
They've  pushed  me  in  to  make  a  mock 

of  me, 
Because  they  knew  I  could  take  either 

side 
And  beat  them  at  it. 

WISE  MAN 

If  you  believe  in  God, 
You  are  my  soul's  one  friend. 

[Pupils  laugh. 
Mistress  or  wife 

Can  give  us  but  our  good  or  evil  luck 
Amid  the  howling  world,  but  you  shall 

give 
Eternity,    and    those    sweet-throated 

things 
That  drift  above  the  moon. 

[The   pupils   look   at   one   another 
and  are  silent. 


162         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

SECOND  PUPIL 

How  strange  he  is. 

WISE  MAN 
The  angel  that  stood  there  upon  that 

spot, 
Said  that  my  soul  was  lost  unless  I 

found  out 
One  that  believed. 

FOURTH  PUPIL 

Cease  mocking  at  me,  Master, 
For  I  am  certain  that  there  is  no  God 
Nor  immortality,  and  they  that  said  it 
Made  a  fantastic  tale  from  a  starved 

dream 

To  plague  our  hearts.  Will  that  con- 
tent you,  Master? 

WISE  MAN 

The  giddy  glass  is  emptier  every 
moment, 

And  you  stand  there,  debating,  laugh- 
ing and  wrangling. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         163 

Out  of  my  sight!    Out  of  my  sight,  I 

say.  [He  drives  them  out. 

I'll  call  my  wife,  for  what  can  women 

do, 
That  carry  us  in  the  darkness  of  their 

bodies, 
But  mock  the  reason  that  lets  nothing 

grow 
Unless    it    grow    in    light.      Bridget, 

Bridget. 

A  woman  never  ceases  to  believe, 
Say    what    we    will.    Bridget,    come 

quickly,  Bridget. 

[Bridget    comes    in    wearing    her 

apron.    Her  sleeves  turned  up 

from    her    armst    which    are 

covered  with  flour. 

Wife,  what  do  you  believe  in?     Tell 

me  the  truth, 
And   not — as   is  the  habit   with  you 

all- 
Something  you  think  will  please  me. 

Do  you  pray? 


164         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

Sometimes  when  you're  alone  in  the 
house,  do  you  pray? 

BRIDGET 

Prayers — no,  you  taught  me  to  leave 
them  off  long  ago.  At  first  I  was  sorry, 
but  I  am  glad  now,  for  I  am  sleepy  in 
the  evenings. 

WISE  MAN 
Do  you  believe  in  God? 

BRIDGET 

Oh,  a  good  wife  only  believes  in 
what  her  husband  tells  her. 

WISE  MAN 
But  sometimes,  when  the  children  are 

asleep 
And  I  am  in  the  school,  do  you  not 

think 
About  the  Martyrs  and  the  saints  and 

the  angels, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         165 

And  all  the  things  that  you  believed 
in  once? 

BRIDGET 

I  think  about  nothing — sometimes 
I  wonder  if  the  linen  is  bleaching 
white,  or  I  go  out  to  see  if  the  crows 
are  picking  up  the  chickens'  food. 

WISE  MAN 
My   God, — my   God!     I   will  go  out 

myself. 
My  pupils  said  that  they  would  find  a 

man 
Whose  faith  I  never  shook — they  may 

have  found  him. 

Therefore  I  will  go  out — but  if  I  go, 
The  glass  will  let  the  sands  run  out 

unseen. 

I  cannot  go — I  cannot  leave  the  glass. 
Go  call  my  pupils — I  can  explain  all 

now, 
Only    when   all    our   hold   on    life   is 

troubled, 


166         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

Only  in  spiritual  terror  can  the  Truth 
Come  through  the   broken  mind — as 

the  pease  burst 
Out  of  a  broken  pease-cod. 

[He  clutches  Bridget  as  she  is  going. 

Say  to  them, 

That  Nature   would   lack   all   in   her 

most  need, 
Could  not  the  soul  find  truth  as  in  a 

flash, 

Upon  the  battle-field,  or  in  the  midst 
Of  overwhelming  waves,  and  say  to 

them — 
But  no,  they  would  but  answer  as  I  bid. 

BRIDGET 

You  want  somebody  to  get  up  an 
argument  with. 

WISE  MAN 

Look  out  and  see  if  there  is  any  one 
There  in  the  street — I  cannot  leave  the 
glass, 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         167 

For  somebody  might  shake  it,  and  the 

sand 
If  it  were  shaken  might  run  down  on 

the  instant. 


BRIDGET 

I  don't  understand  a  word  you  are 
saying.  There's  a  crowd  of  people 
talking  to  your  pupils. 

WISE  MAN 

Go  out  and  find  if  they  have  found  a 

man 
Who  did  not  understand  me  when  I 

taught, 
Or  did  not  listen. 

BRIDGET 

It  is  a  hard  thing  to  be  married  to 
a  man  of  learning  that  must  always  be 
having  arguments.  [She  goes  out. 


168         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

WISE  MAN 
Strange  that  I  should  be  blind  to  the 

great  secret, 
And  that  so  simple  a  man  might  write 

it  out 

Upon  a  blade  of  grass  or  bit  of  rush 
With    naught    but    berry    juice,    and 

laugh  to  himself 
Writing    it    out,    because    it    was    so 

simple. 

[Enter  Bridget  followed  by  the  Fool. 

FOOL 

Give  me  something;  give  me  a 
penny  to  buy  bacon  in  the  shops  and 
nuts  in  the  market,  and  strong  drink 
for  the  time  when  the  sun  is  weak. 

BRIDGET 

I  have  no  pennies.  (To  Wise  Man) 
Your  pupils  cannot  find  anybody  to 
argue  with  you.  There's  nobody  in 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         169 

the  whole  country  with  belief  enough 
for  a  lover's  oath.  Can't  you  be  quiet 
now,  and  not  always  wanting  to  have 
arguments?  It  must  be  terrible  to 
have  a  mind  like  that. 

WISE  MAN 
Then  I  am  lost  indeed. 

BRIDGET 

Leave  me  alone  now,  I  have  to 
make  the  bread  for  you  and  the 
children.  [She  goes  into  kitchen. 

WISE  MAN 
Children,  children! 

BRIDGET 

Your  father  wants  you,  run  to  him. 
[Children  run  in. 

WISE  MAN 

Come  to  me,   children.     Do   not   be 
afraid. 


170         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

I   want   to   know   if   you   believe   in 

Heaven, 
God  or  the  soul — no,  do  not  tell  me 

yet; 
You   need   not   be   afraid   I   shall   be, 

angry, 
Say   what  you  please — so  that   it   is 

your  thought — 
I   wanted   you   to   know   before   you 

spoke, 
That  I  shall  not  be  angry. 

FIRST  CHILD 
We  have  not  forgotten,  Father. 

SECOND  CHILD 
Oh  no,  Father. 

BOTH  CHILDREN 

(As  if  repeating  a  lesson)  There  is 
nothing  we  cannot  see,  nothing  we 
cannot  touch. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         171 

FIRST  CHILD 

Foolish  people  used  to  say  that 
there  was,  but  you  have  taught  us 
better. 

WISE  MAN 

Go  to  your  mother,  go — yet  do  not  go. 
What  can  she  say?    If  I  am  dumb  you 

are  lost; 

And  yet,  because  the  sands  are  run- 
ning out, 
I  have  but  a  moment  to  show  it  all 

in.     Children, 
The  sap  would  die  out  of  the  blades  of 

grass 
Had  they  a  doubt.    They  understand 

it  all, 

Being  the  fingers  of  God's  certainty, 
Yet  can  but  make  their  sign  into  the 

air; 
But    could    they    find    their    tongues 

they'd  show  it  all; 
But  what  am  I  to  say  that  am  but  one, 


172         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

When  they  are  millions  and  they  will 

not  speak — 

[Children  have  run  out. 
But  they  are  gone;  what  made  them 

run  away? 

[The  Fool  comes  in  with  a  dan- 
delion 
Look   at  me,   tell   me   if  my  face  is 

changed, 
Is  there  a  notch  of  the  fiend's  nail 

upon  it 

Already?    Is  it  terrible  to  sight? 
Because  the  moment's  near. 

[Going  to  glass. 

I  dare  not  look, 

I  dare  not  know  the  moment  when 

they  come. 
No,   no,   I  dare  not.      (Covers  glass.) 

Will  there  be  a  footfall, 
Or   will   there   be   a   sort   of   rending 

sound, 
Or  else  a  cracking,  as  though  an  iron 

claw 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         173 

Had  gripped  the  threshold  stone? 

[Fool  has  begun  to  blow  the  dan- 
delion. 

What  are  you  doing? 

FOOL 
Wait  a  minute — four — five — six — 

WISE  MAN 
What  are  you  doing  that  for? 

FOOL 

I  am  blowing  the  dandelion  to  find 
out  what  hour  it  is. 

WISE  MAN 
You  have  heard  everything,  and  that 

is  why 
You'd  find  what  hour  it  is — you'd  find 

that  out, 
That  you  may  look  upon  a  fleet  of 

devils 
Dragging  my  soul  away.     You  shall 

not  stop, 


174         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

I  will  have  no  one  here  when  they 
come  in, 

I  will  have  no  one  sitting  there — no 
one — 

And  yet — and  yet — there  is  some- 
thing strange  about  you. 

I  hah*  remember  something.  What 
is  it? 

Do  you  believe  in  God  and  in  the  soul? 

FOOL 

So  you  ask  me  now.  I  thought 
when  you  were  asking  your  pupils, 
'Will  he  ask  Teigue  the  Fool?  Yes, 
he  will,  he  will;  no,  he  will  not — yes, 
he  will.'  But  Teigue  will  say  nothing. 
Teigue  will  say  nothing. 

WISE  MAN 
Tell  me  quickly. 

FOOL 
I  said,  'Teigue  knows  everything,  not 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         175 

even  the  green-eyed  cats  and  the  hares 
that  milk  the  cows  have  Teigue's  wis- 
dom'; but  Teigue  will  not  speak,  he 
says  nothing. 

WISE  MAN 

Speak,  speak,  for  underneath  the  cover 

there 
The  sand  is  running  from  the  upper 

glass, 
And  when  the  last  grain's  through,  I 

shall  be  lost. 

FOOL 

I  will  not  speak.  I  will  not  tell 
you  what  is  in  my  mind.  I  will  not 
tell  you  what  is  in  my  bag.  You 
might  steal  away  my  thoughts.  I 
met  a  bodach  on  the  road  yesterday, 
and  he  said,  'Teigue,  tell  me  how 
many  pennies  are  in  your  bag;  I 
will  wager  three  pennies  that  there  are 


176         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

not  twenty  pennies  in  your  bag;  let 
me  put  in  my  hand  and  count  them.' 
But  I  gripped  the  bag  the  tighter,  and 
when  I  go  to  sleep  at  night  I  hide  the 
bag  where  nobody  knows. 

WISE  MAN 

There's  but  one  pinch  of  sand,  and  I 

am  lost 
If  you  are  not  he  I  seek. 

FOOL 

O,  what  a  lot  the  Fool  knows,  but 
he  says  nothing. 

WISE  MAN 

Yes,  I  remember  now.    You  spoke  of 

angels. 
You  said  but  now  that  you  had  seen 

an  angel. 
You  are  the  one  I  seek,  and  I  am  saved. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         177 

FOOL 

Oh  no.  How  could  poor  Teigue 
see  angels?  Oh,  Teigue  tells  one  tale 
here,  another  there,  and  everybody 
gives  him  pennies.  If  Teigue  had  not 
his  tales  he  would  starve. 

[He  breaks  away  and  goes  out. 

WISE  MAN 

The  last  hope  is  gone, 
And  now  that  it's  too  late  I  see  it  all, 
We  perish  into  God  and  sink  away 
Into  reality — the  rest's  a  dream. 

[The  Fool  comes  back. 

FOOL 

There  was  one  there — there  by  the 
threshold  stone,  waiting  there;  and  he 
said,  'Go  in,  Teigue,  and  tell  him 
everything  that  he  asks  you.  He  will 
give  you  a  penny  if  you  tell  him.' 


178         THE  HOUR-GLASS 
WISE  MAN 

I  know  enough,  that  know  God's  will 
prevails. 

FOOL 

Waiting  till  the  moment  had  come 
— That  is  what  the  one  out  there  was 
saying,  but  I  might  tell  you  what  you 
asked.  That  is  what  he  was  saying. 

WISE  MAN 

Be  silent.    May  God's  will  prevail  on 

the  instant, 

Although  His  will  be  my  eternal  pain. 
I  have  no  question: 
It  is  enough,  I  know  what  fixed  the 

station 

Of  star  and  cloud. 
And  knowing  all,  I  cry 
That  what  so  God  has  willed 
On  the  instant  be  fulfilled, 
Though  that  be  my  damnation. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS         179 

The  stream  of  the  world  has  changed 

its  course, 
And    with   the   stream   my   thoughts 

have  run 

Into  some  cloudy  thunderous  spring 
That  is  its  mountain  source — 
Aye,  to  some  frenzy  of  the  mind, 
For  all  that  we  have  done's  undone, 
Our  speculation  but  as  the  wind. 

[He  dies. 
FOOL 

Wise  man — Wise  man,  wake  up 
and  I  will  tell  you  everything  for  a 
penny.  It  is  I,  poor  Teigue  the  Fool. 
Why  don't  you  wake  up,  and  say, 
'There  is  a  penny  for  you,  Teigue'? 
No,  no,  you  will  say  nothing.  You 
and  I,  we  are  the  two  fools,  we  know 
everything,  but  we  will  not  speak. 

[Angel  enters  holding  a  casket. 

O,  look  what  has  come  from  his 
mouth!  O,  look  what  has  come  from 
his  mouth — the  white  butterfly!  He 


180         THE  HOUR-GLASS 

is  dead,  and  I  have  taken  his  soul  in 
my  hands;  but  I  know  why  you  open 
the  lid  of  that  golden  box.  I  must 
give  it  to  you.  There  then,  (he  puts 
butterfly  in  casket)  he  has  gone  through 
his  pains,  and  you  will  open  the  lid 
in  the  Garden  of  Paradise.  (He  closes 
curtain  and  remains  outside  it.)  He  is 
gone,  he  is  gone,  he  is  gone,  but  come 
in,  everybody  in  the  world,  and  look 
at  me. 

*I  hear  the  wind  a  blow 
I  hear  the  grass  a  grow, 
And  all  that  I  know,  I  know.' 
But  I  will  not  speak,  I  will  run  away. 

[He  goes  out. 


NOTES 


181 


NOTES 

PREFATORY  POEM 

'FREE  of  the  ten  and  four'  is  an  error  I  cannot 
now  correct,  without  more  rewriting  than  I 
have  a  mind  for.  Some  merchant  in  Villon,  I 
forget  the  reference,  was  'free  of  the  ten  and 
four.'  Irish  merchants  exempted  from  certain 
duties  by  the  Irish  Parliament  were,  unless 
memory  deceives  me  again  for  I  am  writing 
away  from  books,  'free  of  the  eight  and  six.' 

POEMS  BEGINNING  WITH  THAT  'To  A  WEALTHY 
MAN'   AND     ENDING     WITH     THAT     'To     A 

SHADE' 

During  the  thirty  years  or  so  during  which 
I  have  been  reading  Irish  newspapers,  three 
public  controversies  have  stirred  my  imagina- 
tion. The  first  was  the  Parnell  controversy. 
There  were  reasons  to  justify  a  man's  joining 
either  party,  but  there  were  none  to  justify, 
on  one  side  or  on  the  other,  lying  accusations 
forgetful  of  past  service,  a  frenzy  of  detraction. 
And  another  was  the  dispute  over  'The 
Playboy.'  There  were  reasons  for  opposing 
as  for  supporting  that  violent,  laughing  thing, 
183 


184  NOTES 

but  none  for  the  lies,  for  the  unscrupulous 
rhetoric  spread  against  it  in  Ireland,  and  from 
Ireland  to  America.  The  third  prepared  for 
the  Corporation's  refusal  of  a  building  for  Sir 
Hugh  Lane's  famous  collection  of  pictures. 

One  could  respect  the  argument  that  Dublin, 
with  much  poverty  and  many  slums,  could  not 
afford  the  £22,000  the  building  was  to  cost 
the  city,  but  not  the  minds  that  used  it.  One 
frenzied  man  compared  the  pictures  to  Troy 
horse  which  'destroyed  a  city,'  and  innumer- 
able correspondents  described  Sir  Hugh  Lane 
and  those  who  had  subscribed  many  thousands 
to  give  Dublin  paintings  by  Corot,  Manet, 
Monet,  Degas,  and  Renoir,  as  'self -seekers,' 
'self -advertisers,'  'picture-dealers,'  'log-roll- 
ing cranks  and  faddists,'  and  one  clerical 
paper  told  'picture-dealer  Lane'  to  take 
himself  and  his  pictures  out  of  that.  A 
member  of  the  Corporation  said  there  were 
Irish  artists  who  could  paint  as  good  if  they 
had  a  mind  to,  and  another  described  a  half- 
hour  in  the  temporary  gallery  in  Harcourt 
Street  as  the  most  dismal  of  his  life.  Some 
one  else  asked  instead  of  these  eccentric 
pictures  to  be  given  pictures  '  like  those  beauti- 
ful productions  displayed  in  the  windows  of 
our  city  picture  shops.'  Another  thought 
that  we  would  all  be  more  patriotic  if  we 


NOTES  185 

devoted  our  energy  to  fighting  the  Insurance 
Act.  Another  would  not  hang  them  in  his 
kitchen,  while  yet  another  described  the  vogue 
of  French  impressionist  painting  as  having 
gone  to  such  a  length  among  'log-rolling 
enthusiasts'  that  they  even  admired  'works 
that  were  rejected  from  the  Salon  forty  years 
ago  by  the  finest  critics  in  the  world.' 

The  first  serious  opposition  began  in  the 
Irish  Catholic,  the  chief  Dublin  clerical  paper, 
and  Mr.  William  Murphy,  the  organiser  of  the 
recent  lock-out  and  Mr.  Healy's  financial 
supporter  in  his  attack  upon  Parnell,  a  man 
of  great  influence,  brought  to  its  support  a 
few  days  later  his  newspapers  The  Evening 
Herald  and  The  Irish  Independent,  the  most 
popular  of  Irish  daily  papers.  He  replied  to 
my  poem  'To  a  Wealthy  Man'  (I  was  thinking 
of  a  very  different  wealthy  man)  from  what  he 
described  as  'Paudeen's  point  of  view,'  and 
'Paudeen's  point  of  view'  it  was.  The  en- 
thusiasm for  'Sir  Hugh  Lane's  Corots' — one 
paper  spelled  the  name  repeatedly  'Crot' 
— being  but  'an  exotic  fashion,'  waited  'some 
satirist  like  Gilbert'  who  'killed  the  aesthetic 
craze,'  and  as  for  the  rest  'there  were  no  greater 
humbugs  in  the  world  than  art  critics  and  so- 
called  experts.'  As  the  first  avowed  reason 
for  opposition,  the  necessities  of  the  poor  got 


186  NOTES 

but  a  few  lines,  not  so  many  certainly  as  the 
objection  of  various  persons  to  supply  Sir  Hugh 
Lane  with  'a  monument  at  the  city's  expense,' 
and  as  the  gallery  was  supported  by  Mr. 
James  Larkin,  the  chief  Labour  leader,  and 
important  slum  workers,  I  assume  that  the 
purpose  of  the  opposition  was  not  exclusively 
charitable. 

These  controversies,  political,  literary,  and 
artistic,  have  showed  that  neither  religion  nor 
politics  can  of  itself  create  minds  with  enough 
receptivity  to  become  wise,  or  just  and  generous 
enough  to  make  a  nation.  Other  cities  have 
been  as  stupid — Samuel  Butler  laughs  at 
shocked  Montreal  for  hiding  the  Discobolus 
in  a  cellar — but  Dublin  is  the  capital  of  a 
nation,  and  an  ancient  race  has  nowhere  else 
to  look  for  an  education.  Goethe  in  Wilhelm 
Meister  describes  a  saintly  and  naturally 
gracious  woman,  who  getting  into  a  quarrel 
over  some  trumpery  detail  of  religious  observ- 
ance, grows — she  and  all  her  little  religious 
community — angry  and  vindictive.  In  Ireland 
I  am  constantly  reminded  of  that  fable  of 
the  futility  of  all  discipline  that  is  not  of 
the  whole  being.  Religious  Ireland — and  the 
pious  Protestants  of  my  childhood  were  signal 
examples — thinks  of  divine  things  as  a  round 
of  duties  separated  from  life  and  not  as  an 


NOTES  187 

element  that  may  be  discovered  in  all  circum- 
stance and  emotion,  while  political  Ireland 
sees  the  good  citizen  but  as  a  man  who  holds 
to  certain  opinions  and  not  as  a  man  of  good 
will.  Against  all  this  we  have  but  a  few 
educated  men  and  the  remnants  of  an  old 
traditional  culture  among  the  poor.  Both 
were  stronger  forty  years  ago,  before  the  rise 
of  our  new  middle  class  which  showed  as  its 
first  public  event,  during  the  nine  years  of  the 
Parnellite  split,  how  base  at  moments  of  excite- 
ment are  minds  without  culture.  1914. 

'Romantic  Ireland's  dead  and  gone'  sounds 
old-fashioned  now.  It  seemed  true  in  1913, 
but  I  did  not  foresee  1916.  The  late  Dublin 
Rebellion,  whatever  one  can  say  of  its  wisdom, 
will  long  be  remembered  for  its  heroism.  '  They 
weighed  so  lightly  what  they  gave,'  and  gave 
too  in  some  cases  without  hope  of  success. 
July  1916. 

THE  DOLLS 

The  fable  for  this  poem  came  into  my  head 
while  I  was  giving  some  lectures  in  Dublin.  I 
had  noticed  once  again  how  all  thought  among 
us  is  frozen  into  'something  other  than  human 
life.'  After  I  had  made  the  poem,  I  looked  up 
one  day  into  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  suddenly 
imagined,  as  if  lost  in  the  blue  of  the  sky,  stiff 


188  NOTES 

figures  in  procession.  I  remembered  that  they 
were  the  habitual  image  suggested  by  blue 
sky,  and  looking  for  a  second  fable  called  them 
"The  Magi',  complimentary  forms  to  those 
enraged  dolls. 

THE  HOUR-GLASS 

A  friend  suggested  to  me  the  subject  of  this 
play,  an  Irish  folk-tale  from  Lady  Wilde's 
Ancient  Legends.  I  have  for  years  struggled 
with  something  which  is  charming  in  the  naive 
legend  but  a  platitude  on  the  stage.  I  did 
not  discover  till  a  year  ago  that  if  the  wise 
man  humbled  himself  to  the  fool  and  received 
salvation  as  his  reward,  so  much  more  powerful 
are  pictures  than  words,  no  explanatory 
dialogue  could  set  the  matter  right.  I  was 
faintly  pleased  when  I  converted  a  music-hall 
singer  and  kept  him  going  to  Mass  for  six 
weeks,  so  little  responsibility  does  one  feel 
for  those  to  whom  one  has  never  been  intro- 
duced; but  I  was  always  ashamed  when  I  saw 
any  friend  of  my  own  in  the  theatre.  Now  I 
have  made  my  philosopher  accept  God's  will, 
whatever  it  is,  and  find  his  courage  again,  and 
helped  by  the  elaboration  of  verse,  have  so 
changed  the  fable  that  it  is  not  false  to  my 
own  thoughts  of  the  world. 

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just  preceding  this,  The  Song  of  Hugh  Glass:  "In  this 
poem  Mr.  Neihardt  touches  life,  power,  beauty,  spirit; 
the  tremendous  and  impressive  forces  of  nature.  .  .  . 
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outstanding  character  that  once  it  is  read  he  is  sure 
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tually all  of  the  poems  in  this  first  collection  have  then* 
setting  in  California,  most  of  them  in  the  Monterey 
peninsula,  and  they  realize  the  scenery  of  the  great 
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Poems  of  the  Great  War 

BY  J.  W.  CUNLIFFE 

Here  are  brought  together  under  the  oditorship  of 
Dr.  Cunliffe  some  of  the  more  notable  poems  which 
have  dealt  with  the  great  war.  Among  the  writers 
represented  are  Rupert  Brooke,  John  Masefield,  Lin- 
coln Colcord,  William  Benet.  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson, 
Hermann  Hagedorn,  Alfred  Noyes,  Rabindranath 
Tagore,  Walter  De  La  Mare,  Vachel  Lindsay  and  Owen 
Seaman. 

The  New  Poetry:  An  Anthology 

Edited  by  HARRIET  MONROE  and  ALICE 
CORBIN  HENDERSON,  Editors  of  Poetry 

Probably  few  people  are  following  as  closely 
poetry  of  to-day  as  are  the  editors  of  the  Poetry  M(.  _ 
zine  of  Chicago.  They  are  eminently  fitted,  therefore, 
to  prepare  such  a  volume  as  this,  which  is  intended  to 
represent  the  work  that  is  being  done  by  the  leading 
poets  of  the  land.  Here,  between  the  covers  of  one 
book,  are  brought  together  poems  by  a  great  many 
different  writers,  all  of  whom  may  be  said  to  be  re- 
sponsible in  a  measure  for  the  revival  of  interest  in 
poetry  in  this  country. 

The  Story  of  Eleusis 

BY  LOUIS  V.  LEDOUX 

This  is  a  lyrical  drama,  in  the  Greek  manner,  dealing 
with  the  story  of  Persephone.  Mr.  Ledoux  has  con- 
structed such  a  play  as  might  well  have  held  the  at- 
tention of  the  assembled  mystse  at  Eleusis.  It  is 
Greek.  Better  than  this,  it  is  also  human.  Its  beauty 
and  its  truthfulness  to  life  will  appeal  alike  to  the  lover 
of  classical  and  the  lover  of  modern  dramatic  poetry. 


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